


From Fire

by njchrispatrick



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Original Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Deadpool being Deadpool, F/M, Gen, Genosha, Good Dumbledore, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Mutant Hate, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-X-Men: The Last Stand (2006), Racism, The Dark Phoenix Saga, Wizarding World
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-10-11 00:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njchrispatrick/pseuds/njchrispatrick
Summary: The wizards have always believed themselves superior; the mutants have always believed themselves unique. For many years they have coexisted peacefully, oblivious to the other's true nature. But when that peace is shattered in the darkest way imaginable, will reconciliation be possible? Or are they destined to tear each other apart?





	1. Unravelling

**Author's Note:**

> The wizards have always believed themselves superior; the mutants have always believed themselves unique. For many years they have coexisted peacefully, oblivious to the other's true nature. But when that peace is shattered in the darkest way imaginable, will reconciliation be possible? Or are they destined to tear each other apart?
> 
> Notes: 1) This story takes place post-Goblet of Fire and pre-Last Stand. I will be distancing myself from the plot of Last Stand very strongly, though certain elements will make an appearance. Ignores First Class. Elements of the Harry Potter universe remain mostly unchanged.
> 
> 2) There will be NO PAIRINGS for Harry, though certain characters may make advances. Most other pairings are canon-compliant.
> 
> 3) The rules and limitations of magic within this story are drawn ONLY from the books, so they may seem weaker than certain stories make them appear. The abilities of wizardkind here are exactly the same as in the original books, and I have attempted to avoid any distinct contradictions. So unless you can cite chapter and line, don't tell me that I am in error.
> 
> I will not be using tags as the full information would spoil several plot twists. So if there is anything you must know before reading further, feel free to ask directly.

_Random Harry Potter Fact:_ _The origins of wizardkind are unknown. Whether, in ancient times, some humans randomly discovered they had magic, or there was some sort of ritual or potion or pact, their origins remain a mystery._

* * *

_Chapter 1- Unravelling_

The graveyard was as silent as death. No wind, nor breath, nor rustle of animals pierced the still night. Amidst the gravestones the black-robed figures held their breath, standing like wraiths in a circle around the burning embers of the fire.

Behind one such stone Harry Potter's heartbeat sounded thunderous to his ears, his wand clenched tightly in one hand while the other gripped the dead grass like a lifeline. He could feel the Death Eaters' eyes on his pathetic hiding spot and knew that they were aware of the same thing he was; it wouldn't hide him for much longer.

Voldemort's snake wove through the stones, creeping ever-closer to him, a subtle warning for him to move or be bitten. It was a trap there was no escape from, a duel against a wizard far more powerful than he.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. "You cannot hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry? Come out, Harry… come out and play, then… it will be quick… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…"

His scar was burning and his entire head pounding, making it difficult to focus. Still he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and he rolled away just before the headstone exploded under the brunt of a bright orange spell.

The teen dodged the shrapnel and sent a Stunning Spell back, but it just bounced off an opaque shield the Dark Lord conjured instantly. Harry sent off a hexes and a Full-Body-Bind, but Voldemort paid no more intention to them than flies.

" _Crucio_!"

Harry fell to the floor screaming, every bone seeming to shatter, every muscle tear, every nerve crying out as the Torture Curse filled him up like acid. Scrabbling fingers dug into the dirt as he tried to escape the pain, but there was no relief until Voldemort finally ended the curse.

He staggered to his feet, turning and flinging his wand out, crying " _Expelliarmus!"_

Voldemort was ready. " _Avada Kedavra!"_ he incanted, a bolt of bright green blasting from the tip of his wand. The deathly light collided with the red of Harry's spell, clashing with a crackle of electricity. Red and green streams intertwined, still connected to their caster's wand.

Harry gasped, his left hand joining the right as his wand began to shake violently in his hands. Voldemort's did the same but the slit crimson eyes just narrowed, long fingers curling tighter around the handle. He'd never seen anything like it, the two spells fusing together in a dazzling light show.

Suddenly there was a flash and a bang, and red and green morphed into a bright gold. The color raced back, touching the wands, and Harry's grew hot in his hand. The golden beam was thickening, splintering off and shooting past his face like lightning. Sparks crackled from the tip of his wand and the pain in his scar grew until it was like a dagger was cutting into his skull. He cried out, falling on one knee, but he couldn't move hand away; whatever strange force was at work here was stronger than himself.

Through the haze of pain he could see shock and what could only be _fear_ crossing Voldemort's face. The Death Eaters raced forward but were thrown back by a dome of light which had formed around the duo, swirling like a stormcloud. The grass at his feet withered and died instantly, the air tense with power.

The bound beams had formed a thick bead of light in the middle, and it was sliding its way towards Harry. The closer that bead moved, the harder Harry's wand vibrated; he was sure his wand would not survive contact with it; it felt as though it was about to shatter under his fingers. Gasping, he forced down the pain and tried to push all his power into the spell, attempting to force it back towards the Dark Lord. And that's when it happened.

_Crack!_

Harry froze, heart skipping a beat at the sound his wand made. Green eyes lowered, staring in shock and horror at the wide crack now marring the previously smooth surface of his wand. From within it light shone forth, and it grew so hot he could feel it burning his skin. Voldemort's shock morphed to glee as he realized what had happened and he took a step forward.

The bead of light was nearly to Harry now, and he could feel the power coming off it, golden light morphing back to green as the Killing Curse overwhelmed his own. He pushed back but the pain in his scar grew as he did, nearly overwhelming him as he dropped one hand to steady himself. It was like he'd collided with a wall in his mind. He'd hit his limit, he realized; he wasn't strong enough to beat him. He was too _weak_.

There was a sound like breaking glass and a loud shriek as Voldemort's spell finally made contact with the tip of Harry's wand. The tension filling the air around them broke, the magic blasting outwards in a ripple of golden light. Harry's spell rebounded on him, ripping his wand from his grasp and sending it flying out of sight.

He collapsed to his hands and knees, warm blood running down his face from his scar, his wand hand singed from holding the scalding wood. He forced his head up, unable to move as Voldemort stood in front of him, looking as tall as the sky itself, an aura of power surrounding him like a halo.

"You see Harry?" The Dark Lord whispered, the words still managing to carry over the silent graveyard. "Just as your parents did, you will die by my hand. Where is your great power now, Prophecy Child?"

He raised his wand, the tip of the yew shaft pointing directly at the very scar that it had formed thirteen years ago. Emerald eyes watched as Voldemort's lipless mouth seemed to move in slow motion, spitting out the words of the Unforgivable.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Blinding green light filled Harry's vision, and the last thing he felt before darkness swept in was his scar splitting open, agony beyond words, and a horrible, _incredible_ feeling of release.

* * *

_TERROR ACROSS WIZARDING BRITAIN!_

_Fear grips the magical community of Great Britain today as the entire country feels the shock of yesterday's events. Late last night, Dark wizards or witches unknown attacked the muggle town of Little Hangleton in northern England, destroying the entire town in a feat of never-before-seen Dark Magic that leaves authorities baffled. Aurors have yet to find any evidence of what could have caused such a horrific act, and there are no survivors to serve as witnesses. The death toll is believed to be at least a thousand. Muggle authorities have listed it as a terrorist attack._

_Many question if this is related to the equally baffling disappearance of Hogwarts Champions Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter from the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Mere minutes before the obliteration of the town, both boys vanished from the maze, failing to appear in the designated portkey location in front. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, claims that it may be an attempt by a former Death Eater (servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) to take revenge on Potter for his defeat of the Dark Lord thirteen years ago._

_Beauxbatons and Durmstang Champions Fleur Delacour and Victor Krum were found soon after, both suffering from the effects of the Imperius Curse and having no recollection of anything after entering the maze. No comment was given from Krum; however, Delacour has offered her wishes for Mr. Potter to be returned as swiftly and safely as possible._

_For more information on the Triwizard Tournament, turn to page 3. For information on the muggle response, turn to page 5._

Dumbledore let the copy of the Daily Prophet fall onto his desk, staring down at the picture with tired blue eyes. It was a copy of the one Rita Skeeter had taken, cropped to only show Cedric and Harry. Both boys were smiling; a sharp contrast to the dark message held in the paper below.

He took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wake himself up; the entire day spent at the Ministry had taken its toll on him. The Wizengamot had called an emergency meeting about these events, and whether or not the damage this did to the Statute of Secrecy was remediable.

"Albus?" Minerva McGonagall spoke up, forcing him to raise his head. She was not alone; forming a half-circle before him were several members of his staff as well as several Order members, many of whom fit into both categories. He had called the meeting last-minute, knowing that the Order of the Phoenix would be needed now more than ever.

"I apologize, Minerva," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm afraid there's not much I can do on this matter. Cornelius was quite inflexible about it; he believes that Voldemort—" He ignored their flinches. "—is well and truly gone, and that this is merely a radical. He refuses to accept the possibility of it being anything else. It was all I could do to claim it as an old supporter."

" _Radical?_ " Sturgis Podmore shook his head in disbelief. "This is a bit more than some muggle-hater casting a few Unforgivables. This was a massacre! How could anyone even _do_ something like this?"

"That's something I'd like to know as well," Minerva added. "I've never witnessed anything like it, not even during the last war. Surely You-Know-Who would've used it if he could've."

Moody answered this time. He'd been found locked up in a trunk shortly after the other Moody—Barty Crouch Jr., he'd informed them—vanished. "I called up a few contacts of mine in the Aurors. They don't have a clue what it was. There was no Dark residue, no markings of any kind. Not even _Fiendfyre_ could cause this much destruction this quickly." He scowled, looking fearsome with his disfigured face. "This is something new."

Several eyes turned to Snape, and Remus Lupin asked the question on everyone's mind. "Severus, have you heard of anything—"

 _"No._ " The Potions Master glared at them all in turn. "I have not yet been called, a fact which is… concerning."

"How do we know you're telling the truth?" Sirius Black, of course. He sneered at the other man. "For all we know you're back in his pocket."

Snape opened his mouth to give a harsh retort but Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing them. He sent Sirius a stern look over his glasses. "Need I remind you, I trust Severus with my life. And even so, the spells protecting this school alert me to anyone leaving, and no one has since yesterday."

"Speaking of which, how did this even happen? If the magic is so strong how did two teenagers vanish?"

Dumbledore folded his hands together and glanced down at the silver gadgets puffing away on his desk. "The Triwizard Cup was enchanted as a portkey," he explained in response to Remus' question. "I did so myself several days ago. It would have been extremely easy for Crouch, posing as Alastor—" He gave a nod to the grizzled Auror. "—to place his own afterwards. My spell would allow it to work within Hogwarts, but his addition would direct it out. A Trojan Horse, if you will."

It was clear that they caught the meaning, if not the reference. "So he could be anywhere?" Sirius asked worriedly. "How do we know he's not…"

Dumbledore raised his hands placating. "I have already examined the wards around the Dursleys' house. Should Harry have lost his life, they would have fallen immediately since they are tied to him. However, they remain firm, meaning that he also retains Lily's protection. It is likely he is alright and simply incapable of reaching us."

Sirius fell back against his chair in relief.

"I'm afraid that is not the most pressing concern, however."

The Order members sat up straighter, all eyes focusing on the Headmaster.

"Fudge has spent much of the day in session with the Prime Minister, who has expressed grave concerns about what happened. He was not in office during Voldemort's campaign for power, so he doesn't understand the full ramifications of his ideals. However, he is extremely worried about the possibility of this being a Dark Wizard. Our government has always kept a tight hold over the Statute of Secrecy which is why we've had a peaceful relationship with the muggle one. But a threat like this may endanger more muggles, in which case he plans to take action."

"Action?" Minerva asked worriedly.

"Magical Registration."

Shocked gasps and wide eyes appeared across their faces. "He can't do that though, can he?" Dedelus Diggle squeaked out.

"He believes it is the only way to control the situation. The muggles already have such a law in place for the ones they call 'mutants'; he would simply extend it to include us."

"We're not a bunch of muggles who can do parlor tricks!" Podmore exclaimed. "Exposing ourselves would put us all at risk!"

"It is unlikely it will come to that," Dumbledore consoled the man. "I'm sure the Prime Minister knows that few would believe his claims, but the possibility is still concerning enough to push the Ministry into action. However, my concern is what they might do in their haste to convict." He gestured towards Sirius. "We've seen where such things lead."

Sirius grimaced and shook his head. "At least Harry doesn't have to deal with all this," he muttered more to himself than the others. "Hopefully wherever he is, he's alright."


	2. Genosha

_Random X-Men Fact: Though most well-known as Magneto's mutant empire, the island of Genosha began as a country known for kidnapping mutants and using them as slave labor._

* * *

_Chapter 2 - Genosha_

Harry's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a deep breath, back arching off the stiff surface on which he lay as he forced his lungs full of oxygen. Bright green eyes blinked up at the light shining into his face, the fog of sleep fading away as memory rushed in, memory and emotion and—

Pain. Terrible, all-consuming pain. It crashed into him like a tidal wave, an ax embedding itself in his head, splitting his brain in two. His head slammed back and limbs strained as he thrashed, head thrown back as he _screamed_ —

_The boy was screaming why was he screaming he wasn't supposed to be awake the drugs were supposed to keep him—_

_Sedated why wasn't he who knew what he could do there could be—_

_Dangerous was he the one no he couldn't be they couldn't—_

Who was he?

_Male neurologist age thirty-three just had a son wants to help—_

_No Rachel female what's wrong is he suffering—_

_Lead scientist want to cut him open see how his mind works—_

_Fourteen pain so much pain so many voices—_

Where was he?

_Lab, white, boy on the table screaming, won't stop screaming, everything's shakingcrackingsplitting—_

_Help him help him, too much lookslikemyson ohgod didtheyhurthim—_

_Shut up mutant freak, shoulda killed him shutthefuckup—_

So many voices, so many people, which one was him or were they all him?

_Boy on the table, young, dark hair, have to help him—_

_See how he works—_

_Cut him open—_

_He was—_

_She was—_

_Scared—_

_Excited—_

_Angry—_

_Guilty—_

He was the Boy-Who-Lived.

No, he was Harry Potter. Who was Harry Potter?

Father's hair—

Mother's eyes—

Scar—

_He's losing control what do we do—_

Hogwarts—

Magic—

Flying—

_The restraints are holding—_

His wrists hurt—

Are they his wrists?

_Mutants are a threat—_

My head hurts—

So many voices—

Eyes closed but I can _see_ —

_He's losing it—_

_Get down—_

Town on fire. Graveyard burning. I'm free, finally free.

_Glass breaking metal shredding like confetti—_

Wand splintering every cell exploding—

_He's gonna blow!_

I am power.

_Get down!_

Darkness.

* * *

Footsteps crunched over broken glass as the men and women pulled themselves from the wreckage of their lab. Several had cuts and bruises dotting their skin, but luckily there was nothing more serious to deal with. The gravest injury had been dealt to the laboratory itself; shattered beakers, lights, and monitors had littered the ground with shards of glass, and the shredded remains of metal tools turned the floor into a maze of razor-sharp spikes.

The lead scientist stood off to the side, mind whirring as he considered the damage and the possible repercussions of it. It wasn't until one of the technicians cleared their throat that he turned his attention to them. "What's the damage?"

The girl cleared her throat awkwardly again. "The, uh, damage was minimal—just some broken glass and machinery. It can be replaced easily."

"And the mutant?"

"Security took him to be fitted with a neural inhibitor. Before the scanner broke it registered an Alpha-level psi pulse," she continued. "Way more powerful than the empath."

He turned to look around the room, taking in the damage done to it. "A telepath of at least moderate strength," he mused, stepping across the broken glass to the scanner. It was utterly wrecked, having flung itself into the wall in a burst of telekinetic power. "With possible rudimentary telekinetic ability as well."

"Sir?" the girl spoke up, "should we have him brought to another lab for further testing?" The wariness in her voice displayed her worry of such an event repeating itself.

"No. While he can't be the one from the town, he's still a very useful research subject. Contact the MRD and have him taken back to the base. See if he knows anything about who destroyed it."

"Understood, sir," she answered with a sharp nod. "I'll have them send you details."

He nodded his thanks, already lost in thought once more. Never before had Trask Industries managed to acquire a telepath, no matter their strength. There were many attempts, but it was difficult when your enemy could simply alter your mind to suit their needs. This boy—if he was really as powerful as it seemed—could advance the Mutant Weaponry program forward like no other.

This boy could be exactly what they needed.

* * *

Waking up was different this time. It was slow, almost gentle, like a Sunday morning in Gryffindor tower. He half expected to hear Neville puttering around looking for his missing sock, Seamus' nasally breathing, or Dean singing in the shower. It took him several seconds to realize that, instead of the soft bed in the tower, he was laying on a cold, hard surface, and that the only sound he could hear was a buzzing noise in his ears.

Harry opened his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling and taking several moments to realize that he didn't recognize it. It was a smooth slab of grey stone, no light or color to be seen. He turned his head, following as the ceiling transitioned to an equally barren wall, and then floor. He pushed himself up on his forearms, getting his first good look around the room he was in.

It was completely barren. Everything was cut from that same smooth grey stone, even the slab he now realized he was lying on. In the corner was a space-age-looking toilet, but even that was colorless and harsh. The only part of the room which wasn't like the rest was the wall behind him; the wall itself was gone, and the gap was filled with crisscrossing metal bars like a grid.

 _How did I get here?_ Harry wondered to himself, turning and letting his feet brush the floor. His head felt fuzzy, hard-to-focus, and he had the nagging feeling he was forgetting something…

His eyes grew wide as his hands flew to his sides, patting his pockets for his wand. He looked down and endured yet another shock when he realized his clothes—the robes he'd been wearing for the Tournament—had been replaced by a distinctly _muggle_ pair of pants and a shirt. Both were, of course, grey, and he realized that the shirt had a number sewn into it. 10005. He wondered if it meant anything.

The buzzing had grown louder and he looked around once more, trying to discern the cause of it. The pitch didn't change as he moved and he raised a hand to his ear, wondering if he was imaging it. He stiffened when he felt the short, spiky hairs that were way, _way_ shorter than his hair had ever been. His hand slid higher as he wondered what had happened, and it was then that his knuckle collided with something hard, metallic, and definitely _not_ meant to be there.

He grabbed at his head, patting the device which he now realized stretched across his entire scalp. It pressed tightly into his head just before his ears and stretched across the top in two thick bands. It was tight and uncomfortable, and the source of the buzzing he'd been hearing. So he did what anyone would do; he pulled on it.

This proved to be a dire mistake when pain lanced through his scalp. He cried out at the electric shock, slumping back onto the makeshift bed as his limbs trembled. While nowhere near as bad as Voldemort's _Crucio_ , it still hurt quite badly.

His arms fell limp at his sides, chest heaving as the pain finally faded away. His hands were shaking slightly and he curled them into fists, willing them to still. He forced down the panic, trying to think, to figure out where he was.

What was the last thing he remembered? There was the maze, Cedric, the Triwizard Cup, and then… Wormtail! The Cup was a portkey, it took Cedric and he to a graveyard. He remembered a flash of green hitting Cedric—a cold hand seemed to wrap around his heart at that—before Wormtail had bound him to a gravestone.

Harry stood, beginning to pace the short width of the cell.

Wormtail had done something, some kind of ritual. Bone of the father… flesh of the servant… blood of the enemy… Harry's blood. Then he'd dropped that _thing_ into the cauldron.

 _Voldemort_ , Harry realized, closing his eyes. _Voldemort came back._

Was that how he got here? Did the Dark Lord capture him or something? But no, Voldemort wanted to kill him. He could remember a duel, green light meeting red, a golden stream. He thought he was going to die. _But what happened next_?

He walked to the bars, hands wrapping around the metal as he looked beyond them. The room he was in—a cell, he realized—was in a long hallway. Bright electric lights were situated in the ceiling, illuminating the hall and the cells along it. There were many of them that he could see. They were side by side, half a dozen within his line of sight and clearly more after. He couldn't see anyone else within them but the shadows made it difficult to see beyond the entrance, so for all he knew each cell had a prisoner like him.

The muggle-ness of the place proved that this couldn't be Death Eaters. But it also didn't help him figure out where he was or how he'd gotten here. The conspicuous lack of his wand didn't help the matter.

To the left of each cell was a small rectangular keypad jutting out of the wall, including his own. Hesitantly Harry reached through the bars, trying to reach the pad because maybe, _just maybe_ he could unlock the door and—

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Harry yanked his arm back so fast he bruised himself against the bars, heart racing as he looked around wildly for who had spoken. He wished he had his wand; he wasn't sure how well _Alohamora_ would work on electronic locks, but it was worth a try, and at the very least he could defend himself. "Who's there?" he called out, eyes straining to make out whoever was there.

There was movement within his line of sight and he looked straight ahead to the cell across from him as someone appeared behind the bars. His eyes widened at the sight of the girl, not much older than himself, and he jerked back in shock.

She was blue. Everything from her hair to her eyes. Her hair was so dark it was almost black while her skin was so pale it was almost white, but that didn't hide the fact that they were a color that normal people didn't possess. Around her left eye was a large dark circle, almost like a bruise, and circling her neck was a thick band of metal.

"There's a sensor in the keypad," she continued, seemingly oblivious to his wide-eyed staring. "If you touch it your collar—or helmet in your case—will shock you. Painfully, I might add."

Harry sucked in a breath, touching the device on his head hesitantly. "Erm… thanks," he said, remembering the painful jolt he'd received before. "Who are you? What… what is this place?"

Her lips curled into a wry smile. "Domino."

"What?"

"My name. Domino." She made a gesture towards her left eye. "You know, like the game?" She rolled her eyes at his blank look. "And this is Camp X-Ray."

His hands tightened around the bars. "Camp X-Ray?" The name sounded ominous, like Azkaban. "Why am I here?"

Domino—if that was really her name—gave a short laugh. "Same reason as the rest of us," she answered bitterly, hand waving towards the other cells. "You were born different."

He took another glance down the hall, realizing how many people must've been there. Then the rest of what she said registered. "You're a…"

"Mutant, yea. Same as you."

 _Mutants_ , Harry's mind filled in. He knew of mutants, of course; everyone did in the muggle world. They were a worldwide phenomenon, muggles with strange abilities and appearances like having tails or being able to climb up walls. The news was always talking about them being a threat, but he'd never been able to understand why it was so dangerous for them to have different-colored hair or be able to run really fast. Especially compared to wizards and witches.

"I'm not a mutant," he retorted quickly, though his mind was racing. Was that what happened? Did the police think he was a mutant and arrest him or something? He wouldn't put it past the Dursleys to do something like that— _but why couldn't he remember?_

Domino raised a single eyebrow. "Trask doesn't make mistakes. Their tech is the best in the world. How do you think they managed to keep so many mutants locked up this long?"

"Trask?" The name was familiar; he was pretty sure he'd heard it in the news a few times, something about the government's defense contract with them.

"The genetics company?" Domino frowned, clearly confused. "What, do you live under a rock? They're the leading mutant defense company in the world. They supply weapons to almost every country. They claim this prison was built to house mutants who are security threats, but really they just keep us here for experimentation and to use us to build new weapons."

She pointed to her right, down the hall. "This is where they keep the 'important' mutants. The ones they bring in solely for their powers. We never stay here long before they choose us."

Harry's gaze returned to her at the words. "Choose?" Trepidation crept down his back. "I'm assuming that isn't a good thing."

Domino shook her head. "When you get chosen you don't come back. They pick you apart until there's nothing left trying to find out how you tick. I got lucky, they haven't been able to reverse-engineer my powers so I stay alive. For now."

Her constant referral to their 'powers' drew Harry's attention. The news was always talking about the dangerous 'powers' they had, but when he'd asked Hermione, wondering if mutant powers were as dangerous as they said, she'd brushed it off.

 _"It's supposedly about evolution_ ," Hermione had explained to him one day. He had asked her out of curiosity, remembering the news stories; wizards didn't care for muggle news and several purebloods didn't even know about mutants.

 _"Evolution?_ "

_"Yes. Muggles think that these mutants are some kind of 'next stage' of humanity. I understand why they'd think that, but it seems silly really; mutant powers aren't all that impressive. Most of them really don't have any significant abilities at all. Sure they are stronger or faster or look a bit different, but that's nothing to get worked up over."_

_"Are you sure? I heard some can do more stuff. **Powerful** stuff."_

_Hermione scoffed. "That's just a conspiracy theory, that the government is 'hiding' the powerful mutants. The truth is that what they can do isn't as dangerous as some people make it out to be. They aren't any kind of threat—people just want any excuse to be prejudice. Look at Malfoy and the other Slytherins, obsessed with blood purity when half of them can't manage a simple_ Lumos _."_

And that had been the end of it. Harry believed her—he had no reason not to—but doubt was trickling in as he listened to Domino.

"What can you do?" He asked her.

Domino frowned, glancing left and right before answering. "I'm lucky. It's not something I can control though, which is why they're having such a hard time figuring it out. Whenever I do something, so long as I can see it and it's something I could realistically do, it happens. Perfect aim, perfect reflexes, stuff like that."

Harry's eyes grew steadily wider at her words. He wasn't sure if he should believe her, it seemed so far-fetched, but he had the strangest feeling she wasn't lying, like some part of him just knew she wasn't. "Wow," he breathed. "That's incredible."

She just shrugged. "I've got nothing on some of the others in here. At least you're in general; some of us get specialized cells catered exactly to our mutations. Even the toilets are anti-mutant; a few years ago a guy escaped by turning into water and going out the pipes so now even the water is carefully regulated. Some cells are even light-proof when those inside can channel it into power."

Harry wasn't sure if he should believe her. Good aim and reflexes was one thing, but _turning into water?_ That sounded completely unbelievable, even by magic's standards. Wasn't it supposed to be impossible to transfigure yourself into an inanimate object?

As if on cue, Domino asked, "What's your power?"

Harry hesitated. Telling her about magic was out of the question; there could be cameras or microphones, and the last thing he wanted to do was break the Statute of Secrecy and reveal magic to these psychos. "I'm not sure," he answered instead, hoping it would dissuade her. Maybe he'd be lucky and they would realize he wasn't a mutant and let him out. There had to be some sort of test for that.

She frowned and he realized what it sounded like. "I don't really remember how I got here," he admitted.

"You're wearing a neural inhibitor, that might have something to do with it. They have a tendency to scramble your head."

One hand rose to brush the metal headdress, resisting the urge to pull. "Neural inhibitor?"

"Mutant containment device. Trask Industries supplies them to suppress mutant powers. There are different ones for different powers. Rumor is that they're working on something that'll work for any mutant, no matter what power." She eyed him critically. "Inhibitors like that are designed for psychics, to keep you from influencing the guards."

His disbelief only grew at her claim, remembering Hermione and Professor McGonagall's blatant dismissal of Divination. Surely mind-reading wasn't real, right? And even if it was, he certainly couldn't do it!

Suddenly a memory pushed its way to the front of his mind and he froze, eyes widening as the empty space in his memories was suddenly filled.

_He was lying on something stiff, there was a light shining on his face. His wrists were hurting and his throat was dry. Where was he? Last thing he remembered he'd been dueling Voldemort, their spells meeting, his own failing and he was sure he was going to die—_

_And then all he knew was pain, a horrible, terrible pain, his mind was **burning** like it was being torn in half, everything was brushed aside—_

_And then he wasn't Harry Potter anymore, he was a scientist, he was—_

_No, he was someone else entirely, a woman, his name was—_

_Who was he? Who were these people? **What** was he?_

_His mind was overloading, his eyes were closed but he could see glass shatter, metal warp, and then darkness was closing in on him as his mind shut down—_

Harry gasped, collapsing to the floor as the device on his head buzzed louder and the memory faded away. His heartbeat was thrumming in his ears like he'd just run a marathon, and his limbs felt like jelly.

 _I **was** them, _ he realized, a hand wiping over his face. _I was… inside their head?_ It wasn't like anything he'd ever experienced—terrifying, horrifying, his sense of self bleeding away, his mind was fading into theirs like a drop in a rushing river. A thousand voices pressed in on him and he thought he was going to be crushed under it.

He grabbed the neural inhibitor, breathing deeply in relief as he felt it still clasped tightly on his head, the cool sensation tangible through his shorter hair. He realized now, _this_ was protecting him. Silencing all the voices, keeping him safely inside his own head.

"Kid? Kid!" Domino's voice cut through his horrified relief, forcing him to look up, seeing her concerned face pressed against the bars of her cell. "What's wrong? What happened?"

He just shook his head, swallowing several times before answering. "I… You're right," he answered softly, struggling to keep his voice level. "I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

He grimaced, pushing the headpiece farther down onto his head. The buzzing was comforting now, a reminder that he was safe. "I was in their heads. I could hear them all—all their hate and fear. It was horrible." He shook his head, not willing to say anything more.

"You're a telepath." There was something else in her tone—similar to when people discovered he was the Boy-Who-Lived—and he flinched away from it. "That's a really rare power. That must be why they took you here—they only bring the strongest, and telepaths are the hardest to catch—"

"Please," he cut her off, "just… can we talk about something else?" The memory was still fresh in his mind, the horrible feeling of losing himself in the minds of a hundred strangers.

She frowned again—she frowned a lot he noticed. "Trask is obsessed with wiping out mutants," she stated, softer this time. "Every one of us they capture is used to help further that goal. If they're keeping you here, they want to use you. I wouldn't be surprised if you're the first telepath they've caught, it's almost impossible to capture someone who can anticipate and control your every move. But that also means they've got a plan for you, since they don't bring just anyone across the ocean for this."

"Across the ocean?" He stood, pressing himself into the bars. "Where are we?"

Domino gave him a pitying look. "Genosha."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Early post in commemoration of the season finale of Legion. Amazing show, awesome X-Men references.
> 
> Mutant Cameos: Domino; Ability: Luck


	3. Shattered

_Random Harry Potter Fact: Though often adapted to be a form of energy that witches and wizards merely channel, Harry Potter canon has only ever described magic as existing within as a genetic ability, NOT a mystical force._

* * *

Chapter 3 - Shattered

The days passed with aching slowness. It was impossible to tell day from night since the lights never extinguished and there were no windows to see the outside world. Food and water were delivered periodically by people in full-body black armor, but they didn't answer any questions nor did they address Harry or Domino. It surely would've driven him mad if he didn't have Domino to talk to.

When they weren't sleeping they told each other about themselves. He told her about Ron and Hermione, about Hogwarts—without mentioning magic—, about Sirius, and what it was like growing up with the Dursleys. She returned with stories of her mother, of living as a mutant who couldn't pass as normal, and of discovering her powers.

The knowledge of his own apparent powers was not something he enjoyed thinking about. Magic was one thing; it had rules and was easily controlled with spells and his wand. But this supposed newfound power was another. Just thinking about it made him shudder, the feeling of violating someone's mind nearly making him wretch in remembrance.

However, that hadn't stopped him from asking Domino about it. Much as he wished them gone he also knew that he needed to learn more. He still couldn't remember what had happened in the graveyard or how he got here, and if Hermione were here she would've wanted him to learn all the details.

Unfortunately Domino's knowledge was not limitless, and her knowledge of psychic powers was only the basics. Harry had begun to question if it stemmed from his magic, like he initially thought, or if it was something entirely different. Was it even possible for a wizard to become a mutant? He didn't know, and had no one to ask.

"Camp X-Ray is the largest mutant internment camp in the world," Domino explained to him when he asked about their prison. Notions of this being the police had long since vanished as his new friend broke the truth to him; his imprisonment here was beyond legalities. "Trask Industries has a defense contract with two dozen countries regarding mutants deemed security threats, since very few prisons are adapted to hold us. They built this base on Genosha as a way of keeping their prisoners out of the public's view; Genosha has one of the smallest civilian populations in the world and the government is well-known for using mutants as manual labor. Trask gets secrecy; the Genoshan government gets free mutant labor."

"But what about the mugg—the _humans_? Why would they let it happen?"

She scoffed. "Humans don't care about us. They hate us. And they outnumber us a hundred to one, at least for now. Out of sight, out of mind."

Her cynical viewpoint reminded him strangely of Draco Malfoy. The only difference was that Malfoy's prejudice was built on a ridiculous notion of blood superiority, while Domino's came from a lifetime of persecution. He knew better than to argue.

"How come we're the only ones in here?" He questioned instead, gesturing to the empty cells all around them. At first he'd thought they were all full, but he'd come to learn that he and Domino were the only ones.

"There used to be more. Boom-Boom got moved to general; she was one of the lucky ones. The rest—Hotspot, Dust, Berserker—they were all chosen before you got here." She shook her head. "One guess what happened to them."

Harry shivered, remembering her tales of dissection and experimentation. He could scarcely believe that all this was happening and no one did anything about it. He would've thought that there'd be riots in the streets! But instead, if Domino was to be believed, people _supported_ this barbarity.

He could only hope that, somewhere out there, Dumbledore and his friends were close to finding him.

* * *

When a group of armed guards woke Harry in the middle of his sleep, dragging him from the cell without a word of warning, his first thought was that he was going to be executed. The armored men did nothing to dissuade this notion, guns held in ready fists and mouths stern beneath covered eyes. Cold metal shackles were snapped onto his wrists, the lack of chain between them meaning his entire forearms were glued together uncomfortably.

As he was guided roughly down hall his eyes met Domino's for a brief moment, her form pressed against the bars and blue eyes fearful. He tried to offer her some form of reassurance, a smile or a nod, but he was shoved past too quickly. The empty cells loomed ominously on either side of him, reminding him what, exactly, had happened to the previous occupants of those cells.

They turned a corner and the cells bled into blank metal walls, the occasional seam or hallway the only way to tell the passing of distance. More than once the fast pace made Harry stumble, his legs tired from lack of use, only for one of the guards to yank him upright and give him another push forward.

They weren't the only people travelling the halls, either. Men and women in lab coats occasionally drifted pass, eyeing the procession with varying levels of curiosity, amusement, or disgust. One man even went so far as to spit at Harry, the hissed _"Mutie"_ leaving no doubt what he thought of the boy.

After what felt like an hour—though it was more likely just a few minutes—a gloved hand grabbed Harry's shoulder, forcing him to a halt. They'd made a few more turns before coming to a stop before a door just as bland as the walls around it, prompting the part of Harry's brain that wasn't freaking out to wonder how they remembered where they were.

One of the guards rapped sharply on the door. A moment passed and then a low voice called out "Come in."

The door opened and Harry was treated to the sight of yet another blank room. The only difference, however, was that this one was occupied.

An unexpected shove came from behind, sending Harry over the threshold and onto the harsh metal floor. The door slid shut behind him, leaving him alone with the stranger. Piercing brown eyes watched silently as he struggled to his feet, the thick cuffs doing little to assist in the endeavor.

"Harry Potter," the woman spoke up, breaking the silence. She was seated at a table, her hands were folded neatly in front of her, the all-white suit she wore making her dark complexion and eyes all the more stunning. Some part of him recognized that she was very pretty; yet the smile she wore was anything but.

"W-Who are you?" Harry asked, eyes flicking over the contents of the room. Aside from the two of them the room was almost barren. All that took up the small chamber was a table and a pair of chairs, each matching the steel coating walls and floor, and a small rectangular case beside her hands.

She gestured towards the chair opposite her. "Take a seat please."

He eyed it warily. "I'd rather stand."

It instantly became clear that this was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes hardened, hands clenching more tightly, and when she spoke again it lacked the composure of before. "Sit. _Now_."

Harry sat.

The tension vanished and her face smoothed over, returning to, what he now realized, was a carefully maintained façade. "Do you know why you are here Harry?"

He glanced around once more, expecting the blinking lights of security cameras, but found nothing. "Not really."

She _hmmed_ thoughtfully, clearly having been expecting this answer. One hand reached for the case to her left, popping the lid and revealing it to be a bulky laptop. The screen was facing away from him so he couldn't see what she typed into it. "My name is Dr. Sybil Zane," she introduced herself, turning back to face him. "I am a scientist for Trask Industries and the corporate liaison for all of Western Europe. Several days ago the police discovered you unconscious in the town of Little Hangleton, the only survivor to the terrorist attack which destroyed the entire town. You were brought here to be questioned, examined, and, if you cooperate, released. Under probation of course."

Harry's hands tightened into fists, pressing together painfully thanks to the shackles, but he didn't notice. "You found me _where_?"

"Little Hangleton, a small town in Yorkshire. Our satellite scans of the town allow us to estimate that the source of the blast was the cemetery to the north of the town, close to where we found you. So either you were the source of the blast—unlikely given the nature of your mutation—or you were within viewing distance to what was." Her head tilted downward, eyes peering at him over her yellow-tinted glasses. "So tell me Harry, what did you see?"

The boy suddenly found his mouth to be bone-dry. He swallowed, then swallowed again, mind split between trying to understand the information she was bombarding him with and attempting to remember what had happened the night he'd been kidnapped by Voldemort. "I… I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, struggling to comprehend the enormity of her claim. Voldemort had destroyed the entire town? He'd killed _all those people_?

Zane _hmmed_ once more, eyes flicking to the laptop. "Do you know what the device on your head is, Harry?"

The abrupt change of topic threw him for a moment, forcing him from his musings on Voldemort's insanity. "A neural inhibitor. It's supposed to block my p-powers." The word caught in his throat but the woman didn't seem to notice or care.

"That is its main function, yes; to block any neurological activity beyond the most basic thought processes. It keeps you inside your own head, shall we say. But it also allows for us to keep track of your brainwaves and monitor any discrepancies." She turned the laptop, revealing to him what was apparently the 2-D copy of his brain, awash with red, green, and blue. Zane pointed to one spot suffused with dark red. "You see this? This is the part of your brain that handles speech. But it can also tell when certain phrases make you react more strongly. So when you said 'I don't know what you're talking about'—" The dark red suddenly lit up with bright blue. "—I know that you're not being honest."

Harry felt his heartbeat speed up, fingernails digging into his palms. "I'm not lying, I pro—"

He cut off as searing pain exploded behind his eyelids, a cry bursting from his lips as his back arched off the chair. It was brief, nothing compared to the Cruciatus or even the shock he'd received when he'd tried to remove the inhibitor, but it was painful all the same.

Zane was smiling again and this time it seemed so much more real. "Who needs a collar when I can give electroshock at the push of a button?" Her hand lifted from the keyboard, aligning neatly with the other. "So I'll ask again, and this time I want the truth unless you want to see why electroshock was outlawed against humans. What. Happened."

Harry's gaze flickered from her to the laptop, momentarily wondering if he could overpower her and destroy it. Zane noticed the direction of his focus and outright laughed.

"Don't even think about it, kid. Without your powers you're just another scrawny teenager and I'm a black belt in three forms of martial arts. And even if you somehow _did_ manage to get one up on me there's no way you could escape. Four guards are outside ready to put a bullet in your head if you leave here without my permission. The walls are a non-ferrous metal and infused with a special additive that dampens all electromagnetic abilities. Not to mention the veritable army of soldiers and Sentinels standing outside the building."

His wrists were aching, his subconscious tugging on his wrists making them chafe painfully. The uncomfortable chairs and cold surface only heightened the aches resonating through his body, the painful shocking having done little to help matters. He didn't have his wand and even if he did they would drop him before he got a single spell out.

So, though it went against his every instinct, Harry surrendered. He slumped back in the chair, the air whooshing out of him, and he didn't have to see it to know that Zane was smiling smugly.

"I didn't go there on purpose," Harry began, focusing on the chrome surface of the table as he forced the words out. "I was supposed to be at school. One minute I was the next I was in the graveyard."

"A school for mutants?"

Harry hesitated. "No."

Zane watched the screen, eyes narrowing. "And the name of this school?"

"It's not important—"

A pulse of electricity shot through his scalp; a warning if her finger hovering over the button meant anything.

"Hogwarts," he spat out reluctantly. It was entirely possible that she wouldn't be able to find anything but he didn't want to risk it.

Zane nodded, waving a hand at him to continue. "Were you alone?"

"No. A… friend from school was with me."

"And was he the source of the blast?"

Harry bowed his head slightly in remembrance. "He died soon after we got there. He was murdered."

A single brow cocked as she asked, "By whom?"

He was surprised that the way his teeth were grinding together wasn't audible, her callous disregard for the lives lost making his blood boil. "The man who killed my parents."

Zane was leaning forward now, stare unwavering. "Give me his name."

Verdant locked on brown, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. The buzzing in his ears was almost deafening, the neural inhibitor vibrating against his scalp. Anger burned white-hot inside of him; towards Zane, towards Voldemort, towards himself for being the victim once again.

"Voldemort," Harry hissed. "His name is Voldemort."

* * *

For several days after his interrogation Harry was on edge. He rarely slept, half-expecting Zane and her pet goons to come bursting in with a discovery of the magical world and a plan to hunt down the wizards like they'd done the mutants. But as time passed he begun to realize that they had, against all odds, believed his lies. Not that they had been lies exactly; just not the complete truth.

Zane hadn't asked him many questions but the ones she did were too close for comfort. _Where are you from?_ London. _How long have you known you were a mutant?_ Not long. _Why did Voldemort destroy the town?_ I don't know. _What interest does Voldemort have in you?_ He killed my parents.

And the list went on. Luckily though it seems they had more interest in _who_ Voldemort was than in _what_ he was. Their lack of knowledge about magic meant that they would assume the Dark Lord was a mutant, and Harry was content to keep it that way.

However, all his hopes and dreams of rescue and triumph were shattered when he received a visitor.

The door opened at the end of the hall, a loud creak echoing through it. They'd been given food not long before which was the first clue that something was different this time. The second clue was that instead of one set of footsteps there were many.

Harry sat up on the bed, worry curling anxiously through his gut as they finally came into sight. There were four of the soldiers instead of one, forming a perfect square. And in the center was a pale man in a white lab coat, the glasses on his nose glinting in the light as he smiled at Harry. It was not a nice smile.

"Good afternoon," he greeted, stepping beyond the soldiers and right up to the bars. "It's nice to finally have a face to the name. You're much smaller than I pictured, Mr. Potter. I'm Dr. Peterson."

Harry didn't answer. Anxiety sat low in his stomach as he realized that this was exactly what Domino was always referring to, exactly what he'd assumed when Zane took him; being _chosen_.

The doctor merely smiled at his silence, reaching over to the keypad and typing something into it. The bars retracted into the walls with a hissing sound, and for a fraction of a second Harry considered running before dismissing the thought. The soldiers flanking the doctor seemed to sense this stray idea and moved forward as if preparing to grab him.

"Now, boys, Mr. Potter is our guest," Peterson said, waving his hand and calling them back to his side. "I'm sure he has no intention of being difficult, both for his own sake—" He turned to look over his shoulder towards Domino's cell, where she watched with wide eyes. "—and his new _friend's_." He turned back and smirked at Harry, the meaning behind his words clear as day.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "What do you want from me?" He asked, forcing his voice to stay level.

Peterson's glasses glinted in the light. "Come and see." He waved his hand again and the guards moved farther away, as if attempting to seem nonthreatening. It didn't work.

Harry stepped out from the cell, squinting for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the brighter corridor. Peterson was ever-watchful as the teen turned to him, doing his best to not seem afraid. The doctor only smiled that infuriating smirk and turned on his heel, making his way down the hall, clearly intending for Harry to follow him. Not that he had a choice, with the soldiers still following ten steps behind.

He cast one last glance towards Domino, who was pressed against the bars of her cell, eyes wide with worry. _I'll be fine_ , he mouthed towards her, giving her a reassuring grin which did nothing to ease the concern in her face.

Harry followed the doctor all the way to the door at the end of the hall. It wasn't the same one he'd entered through, nor the same one the guard who delivered food ever came out of. Peterson opened it for Harry and waved his arm, as if being gentlemanly. Harry stepped through the door and froze, breath freezing in his throat at what he saw.

The room was _massive_ , almost as big as the Great Hall. Each wall was made from solid steel, wires covering the ceiling. Scientists in white lab coats travelled from monitor to monitor, talking quietly amongst themselves.

However, it wasn't the room itself that caught Harry's attention; it was what was _in_ the room. Along each wall were indentations, in which a glass cylinder sat. And in each glass cylinder was a person.

Peterson followed closely behind Harry as he stepped to the nearest one, disgust and horror running through him at the sight. Inside was a young man not much older than him with a spiky blond Mohawk and a nose piercing. The worst part, however, was that the man was clearly in agony. Electricity pulsed from spikes sticking out of the wall, electrocuting him in a seemingly never-ending cycle.

"What are you doing to him?" Harry found himself yelling, turning to Peterson. "You're torturing him! Let him go!" He took a step towards the man but a guard appeared from nowhere, materializing in front of the doctor like a wall.

Peterson's expression never wavered. " _Torturing_ him?" He chuckled, shaking his head as if speaking to a small child. "No, no, dear boy, quite the contrary. You see, if you take a closer look you'll find that it isn't us torturing him; he's doing it to himself."

Harry turned back to the glass prison and, after a moment, realized that the electricity wasn't coming from the spikes; it was going _into_ the spikes. "What..?"

"Patient number 17809," said Peterson. "Previously referred to as 'Berserker'. Generates a continuous stream of electricity from every cell in his body. If he wasn't in there he'd be frying anyone around him instantly. We keep him in there for his own protection, you see."

"You're using him like a battery," Harry realized, horrified.

Peterson turned away, beckoning with one hand. The guard from before gave Harry a rough push and he stumbled after, reluctantly tearing his eyes from the cell. There were countless others around the room, each holding another person, each one enduring another form of torment. One girl was submerged in water, another was crying against the wall, his eyes covered by a metal plate, and one, a little girl, had thick metal handcuffs around her ankles, keeping her chained to the floor.

"Mutants are a threat, Mr. Potter. Not just to normal humans, but to themselves. Mutant powers are random and uncontrollable and it is our job here to ensure the containment of them. Take what happened in that English town for instance; thousands of people died because a single mutant couldn't control their powers."

"When Dr. Trask first founded this company, he did it on the belief that the fight against the mutant threat was a uniting factor in human history. Almost seventy percent of the human population carries the X-Gene, and every day we work to make sure that their children and grandchildren won't be cursed with its effects."

Peterson was leading him towards a white door at the end of the room, and Harry already knew that it wouldn't be a nice place to be. He slowed but the guards simply shoved him forward, forcing him to keep pace. "But what do you want from me?" Harry demanded to know. "I'm not even a mutant!"

He wasn't sure of his claim, not anymore, but it was his final play. However, Peterson just shook his head.

"Oh, you're quite incorrect Mr. Potter. You see you _are_ a mutant. And not just any mutant—a telepath, making your value just about incomparable."

The door swung open and Harry saw a round white room, doctors with masks and gloves watching expectantly. He took one look at the sharp instruments laid out and tried to run but the door closed behind him with an ominous _click_.

"Place him on the table," said the man, pointing to a metal slab in the exact center. Harry fought their hold—he knew that this did not bode well for him—but they were far stronger and didn't even flinch at his attempts. They forced him on his back, cuffs snapping closed around his wrists and ankles holding him down.

Bile crept up Harry's throat at the sight of wicked-looking instruments on a nearby tray, but he forced it down. "I'm not afraid of you."

Peterson cocked an eyebrow at him disbelievingly. "Remove the neural inhibitor."

Harry's eyes widened and he jerked back as one of the others drew close, reaching out. "What? No! Don't!"

His pleas were ignored. Latex-covered hands closed around the device, and with a sharp _beep_ it was lifted from his head. Harry slammed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the onslaught of voices, but… nothing came.

"Attach the electrodes."

Harry swallowed as four small pads were attached to his forehead, stretching from temple to temple. He pulled against the restraints but to no avail—suddenly he was reminded of when he'd first arrived. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Dr. Zane and I have been studying your brain since you arrived and we've noticed some rather _interesting_ things. We've studied the brains of empaths, telekinetics, and telepaths, but none of them turned out quite like you. It could just be the duality of your mutation—telekinesis and telepathy is a rare combination—or it could be a completely new branch of psionic abilities. I want to find out which." He gave Harry a smile. "You won't survive the process, sadly, but your sacrifice will forward the understanding and eventual elimination of the X-Gene."

_A new age for human prosperity…_

Harry stiffened as Peterson's voice whispered through his mind. The man's lips were unmoving, confirming what he feared; it was starting.

"Doctor? We're ready to begin."

_Almost a pity he has to die so soon, so much_ _**potential** _ _in his mutation—_

Harry pressed the back of his head into the metal beneath him, trying to block out the voices. They'd started as whispers but they were growing louder.

_If we replicate this we could generate enough energy to fuel cities with a single mutant—_

The doctor working on the electric man, Harry realized. He could almost see it, see him scream, feel her cold apathy for his pain—

Harry shook his head, forcing it down. Domino said most mutant powers could be controlled; if he was a mutant, why couldn't he stop this?

_Need a white blood cell count—_

_Analyze the data—_

_Sharon's birthday, should get her a present—_

_Shift ends in an hour—_

_What are they doing to him Harry please be alright—_

Harry latched onto the final thought, stiffening at what he was hearing. _Domino,_ he realized, _I'm hearing her thoughts_. While a large part of him rejected the concept of rooting through someone else's mind he took a small comfort in the sensation. It was like she was standing nearby, talking to him. When he closed his eyes he could almost see it—

_Domino was pacing, chewing on her fingernails as she worried. Please be alright Harry, don't die, need to be rescued have to escape can't no way trapped forever not strong enough not_ _**powerful** _ _enough—_

Harry opened his eyes, staring up at the light above him, the scientists still setting up their machine. He knew he didn't have long; it sounded as though they were getting ready to start, and the voices in his head were as loud as a normal person. He didn't know which one was going to overwhelm him first. He wasn't sure it mattered.

"Spike in cerebral activity near the limbic system—"

He could _feel_ it growing inside of him, like a fire. His head was aching like his brain was too big for his skull and his blood felt too warm for his veins. A dam had broken inside him and he was being overwhelmed by it.

"And we're a go. Jeez look at those marker, never seen psychic output like this—"

_So much power._

The back of Harry's head slammed into the table as he tried to force it back. _You can't do this to me_ , he chanted in his head, _you can't. You can't. You can't!_

The nearest man gasped, hands flying to his head. "His voice is in my head!" He cried, turning to look at Harry in fear as he staggered back. He wasn't the only one as several technicians let out identical cries and covered their heads.

 _Leave me alone! Let me go!_ The voices were so loud now he had to scream to hear himself over them. He wasn't sure if he was talking or thinking anymore, his thoughts were in their minds like theirs were in his.

The scanner exploded, the sound wrenching him back to reality. His wrists were bleeding from how hard he'd pulled against his bonds and the men and women were screaming, clutching their heads in agony.

The voices were screaming, too loud to understand anything beyond _ragepainfear_ and power was roiling under his skin, _too much too hot he couldn't handle it just let it out LET IT OUT!_

Then the universe froze, and there was utter silence.

And then his mind tore in two, his scar began to bleed, and death exploded out of him in every direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short chapters, I hate them as much as you, but there simply isn't enough going on yet for them to be longer. Don't worry though; by chapter 12 they tend to range from 4,000-6,000 words.


	4. Discovery

_Random X-Men Fact: While the X-Men stories may make it seem as though mutants are everywhere, in fact the mutant birthrate is so low that, aside from major cities, there are many communities utterly devoid of mutants._

* * *

_**Chapter 4 - Discovery** _

Charles Xavier's eyes snapped open, hands pulling the Cerebro helmet from his head. Surprise coursed through him as he stared at the device for several minutes, mind racing as he pieced together the flood of information he'd just been bombarded with.

It had been a week since he'd first felt the powerful mutant signature originating from the small town of Little Hangleton. He'd tried to find them, identify how and why they'd been able to cause such an event, but something had been blocking him from seeing them clearly. Until now.

Camp X-Ray, Genosha. The source of a great deal of mutant suffering, but kept blocked from his view by powerful electromagnetic fencing. He'd made personal pleas to many government officials to shut the place down but none had listened or cared, and not even his powers would allow him to gain control of that many people simultaneously. So he'd been forced to simply observe, feel the constant anguish leaking from that place but unable to do anything about it.

But now the horrible place was gone and he couldn't help but feel relieved at the fact. Even when the death count was taken into account, the bright, shining minds of freed mutants filled him with hope and relief. He knew it would have severe repercussions but for now, for this moment, it was a good thing.

The cause of the untimely destruction was exactly as he'd suspected; a boy of fourteen, a mutant more powerful than almost anything Xavier had ever seen. He'd been very surprised to discover that the boy's powers were psychic in nature, not merely explosive as he'd assumed.

_A psychic,_ he mused to himself as he made his way out of Cerebro. _One powerful enough to destroy an entire town with his mind_.

It dredged up an old memory, a young redheaded girl who struggled to control her ever-evolving telekinesis, who would have a nightmare and rip her bedroom to shreds.

Xavier banished the thought quickly. It wasn't the same; he wouldn't _let_ it be the same. This boy's abilities were different, strange in a way he couldn't quite place, and he was collapsing under the strain of his burgeoning power. His mind was impossible to read, flaring too brightly to see clearly, but it was clear that the balance was tipping and he was losing what little control he had. If someone didn't help him soon his mind would destroy itself along with anything and anyone around him.

His train of thought was interrupted as loud, angry voices drew his attention. The oldest students—those eligible to undergo training to be X-Men—had just exited the Danger Room, and Storm and Logan had remained just outside, clearly in a heated argument.

Storm spoke up loudly, agitation coloring her words. "Look Logan you can't just change the rules when you feel like it, I'm trying to teach them something."

"Well I taught them something," he retorted.

"It was a _defensive exercise."_

"Yea," Logan answered, unruffled, "best defense is a good offense. Or is it the other way around?"

Storm turned to face him directly, opening her mouth to speak before pausing at the sight of Xavier. "Professor?"

Logan turned as well, eyebrows rising slightly before he turned back to Storm. "Well it looks like you've got more X-Men business to perform," he quipped, giving her a mock-salute. "If you'll excuse me I'm gonna go find Scott. I'm tired of subbing for his sorry ass."

Storm stiffened at his choice of words and opened her mouth to berate him before Xavier spoke up.

"It's alright Storm, leave him be." He waited until Logan boarded the elevator before speaking. "I know Logan's methods may be… unconventional but he does have the students' best interests at heart."

"Best interests? He completely disregarded the plan so he could play the hero!"

Xavier couldn't hold back a chuckle at her words. "There was a time that you would've done the same," he noted in amusement. "If I recall you always hated following my plans when you could, in your own words, just ' _blow them, shock them, or drown them'_." He smiled at her, gaining one in return. "In any case I did not come to discuss Logan's tactics or lack thereof; it is about something I picked up on Cerebro."

Her annoyance dissolved into curiosity. "A mutant?"

He nodded. "The one behind the two recent catastrophes. I've had a hard time getting an exact fix on his location with the psychic static he's been unleashing but he finally came to a stop in Florida. I need to head down there immediately before I lose him again."

Storm frowned deeply, crossing her arms. "Are you sure it's safe to go by yourself? If he's the one behind all that he could be one of Magneto's fanatics. And I'm sure you aren't the only one after him. Maybe I should come with you."

"And leave the students?" He shook his head. "No, I believe I will be fine. In any case, should anything happen to me _you_ are the one I'd most like to be in charge. As you say, Logan isn't the best at rules," he added with a smile.

"Me? But I thought Scott—"

"Scott's a changed man; he took Jean's death so hard." Xavier sighed to himself, doing a quick mental scan of the building. As expected Scott was in the room he shared with Jean, the same place he'd been spending most of his time.

Storm's frown softened and she glanced down at her feet. "He spends most of the time by himself. He's talked with Alex a few times but I'm worried that he'll…" She trailed off and shook her head. "Just get back here quickly, alright?"

Xavier smiled but it was hollow; worry lurked beneath the surface, both for his first student and the boy who might become the newest one. Worry that he would be unable to prevent the same tragedy that had befallen the last of his students to display this power. That he'd fail him just like he'd failed _her_.

* * *

The grounds of Malfoy Manor were enormous, stretching on for over a mile before hitting the tree line. Even at night, the light of the moon illuminated the sweeping hedges, ripples fountains, and natural gardens decorating the five-hundred-year-old estate. The one observing, however, took no notice of the elegant beauty.

Lord Voldemort's eyes remained fixed on the sky, mind elsewhere. He had taken up residency in Malfoy Manor soon after his resurrection, forced to change his base of operations after the most recent, Riddle Manor, was reduced to dust along with the rest of the town. The Dark Lord felt very little for the destruction of the miserable place, but the _way_ that it had happened had been the source of much thought ever since.

Several of his Death Eaters hadn't survived the blast, a fact was deeply inconvenient for his plans. Most had escaped in time, Disapparating away and leaving him—all had been punished for their cowardice. He, however, had been right at the center, his strongest shield charm barely shielding him for long enough for a Disapparition. But what he'd seen, what he'd _felt_ …

The Dark Lord turned from the window, making his way to Lucius' desk. Books were spread open across the tabletop, each displaying Dark Arts text that would make the average person sick at the sight. All kinds of twisted magic were held within the pages; except, however, the one he was seeking.

With a disgusted sneer he flicked his wand, the pages bursting into flame and then crumbling away to nothing. Lucius might not enjoy the loss of such texts but Voldemort couldn't care in the least. He'd searched book after book, the most obscure sources he could find, but nothing, _nothing_ explained what had happened that day in the graveyard.

Somehow Potter—weak, stupid, _useless_ Potter—had managed to perform an act of magic beyond anything even Lord Voldemort himself had ever seen. In a single instant he had reduced an entire town to dust. That kind of power could win a war in a day, and _somehow_ it had ended up in the hands of a fourteen-year-old boy.

During his rise to power he had utilized the most potent forms of magic he could, everything from Fiendfyre to Dementors. The Ministry, for all its political strength, lacked Aurors powerful enough to stop him. But magic relied on the strength of the user, and even for a wizard as powerful as himself an act such as he'd seen would have drained his life force to the point of death. He had been hailed as the most gifted wizard ever to attend Hogwarts and yet this mere _child_ had performed an act beyond even that of Merlin himself.

One spidery, long-fingered hand reached up to touch the side of his head. His Occlumency shields, much like his body, had finally been restored. But having them broken through with ease, having his deepest secrets laid bare was a sensation he hoped never to experience again.

Potter's mind had ripped through his like a battering ram, shattering his mental barriers with terrifying ease. It was a clumsy attack but that the boy could even accomplish it had, though the Dark Lord was loathe to admit it, terrified him. It had been decades since he'd felt this _weak_.

Voldemort summoned more books from the shelves around him. Dark Arts. Legillimency. Necromancy. Divination. There had to be an answer somewhere. Potter had stumbled onto something important; a new game was beginning, the Dark Lord could feel it.

And he would do anything to make sure he didn't lose.

* * *

The city was teeming with life, crowds filling the sidewalks even as the summer sun beat down on them. Hot dog stands and fruit stalls lined the walkways, businessmen and women on their phones cutting through the crowds. Children cried in their parents' arms, teenagers played on game devices, and cars whizzed by on the street, horns blaring any time someone edged too far off the sidewalk.

With practiced ease Domino wove her way through the chaos, the hood of a stolen coat pulled low over her face. In her hands were grocery bags of supplies, held close against her body in case anyone got grabby. She received several odd looks for her choice in attire, especially in the summer, but she ignored it; better to be thought a weirdo than to be known a mutant, particularly when the police were on the lookout for any mutant escapees from the prison. The news had been running the story of the camp's destruction nonstop for days, each time with more revealed pictures of mutant fugitives. Public unrest was high; some called for arrest of any suspected criminal mutant, others were calling the event an act of divine intervention.

"The Messiah has come!" yelled one man on the street corner, dressed in a ratty pair of jeans and a greasy T-shirt. He held a sign aloft, repeating the message on it. "The Mutant Messiah has come to cleanse the Earth!"

Domino ducked her head as she brushed past him, his words reminding her of the other claims spreading through the news. A so-called 'Mutant Messiah', come to free the mutant race from their oppression and save them all or some such nonsense. The Human Majority had taken the story to heart, however, their overly-zealous televangelist leader using it to further his own ideology of mutants being "God's Curse."

Her journey finally came to a halt beside a small alley lurking in the shadow of a skyscraper. She slid into the gap easily, the warm summer sunlight instantly fading away to cool shade. She bypassed a dumpster before coming to a halt in the back, frowning as she placed the bags on the floor.

Harry was sitting in the corner, surrounded by metal trashcans and litter. The faded black T-Shirt and jeans he was wearing—swiped from the same donation bin she'd taken her coat from—only highlighted how sickly and pale he looked, hugging his knees to his chest and shivering.

"I got the supplies," she told him in a soft voice, as if speaking to a scared animal. She pulled a wad of wrinkled bills from her pocket. "There was enough money for two train tickets north. We can leave tonight and be halfway to the border within a day."

He frowned, glancing up at her as he asked, "Did you steal it?"

She shoved the bills back into her pocket. "Yes," she answered shamelessly. "They're an anti-mutant church anyway; any donations they take are just going to end up used to fuel weapons against us."

He disapproved, clearly, but didn't say anything more. The strain was evident in his face, the dark circles under his eyes and sheen of sweat indicating his lack of rest. It had been almost four days since they'd escaped Genosha along with a few dozen other mutants and he'd spent every moment near-catatonic, overwhelmed by his newfound psychic powers. She knew that it was difficult for him, being in such a public area, but it was only temporary, until they could get a ride into Canada where they could hide until the search blew over.

Though she would never admit it to him, what he had done that day had been terrifying. In a single instant he had managed to unleash a wave of power so tremendous that the very foundations of the camp cracked and shattered, the pulse shorting out the cages and setting the prisoners loose. She had dug him from the rubble, unconscious but alive, the decimated bodies of the scientists piled around him.

No one knew Harry was the cause, and she had feigned ignorance while the other prisoners helped them escape. But his power shook her to the core and she had a nasty feeling that it would come back to bite them.

Domino reached into the nearest bag and pulled out a bottle of water, handing it to him. "Here. The train station's not too far, we should leave as soon as possible in case they caught me on one of the security cameras." The ratty woolen gloves that covered her blue hands were yanked off as she grabbed a pair of apples, handing one to him. "Eat."

She waited until he took a bite before beginning on her own. Noon had just passed and the day was sweltering in her disguise, but the shaded alley offered some slight relief for both of them.

_It won't be long now_ , she told herself. Harry shifted and she wondered if he'd heard her, his powers constantly alerting him to the thoughts of the people around him. _Hopefully we'll make it out of here without getting noticed_.

If only they were so lucky.

* * *

Domino's hand gripped Harry's tightly as she wove through the crowd, expertly ducking wayward elbows or signs. The city was teeming with people, few taking notice of the dark-robed girl tugging a boy after her, and any who did didn't care.

Harry followed her easily, offering no resistance as she pushed and pulled him in the direction she wanted to go. It was easier to simply let her do it; had anyone told him to cross the street by himself he probably wouldn't have been able to.

The voices were unbearable, every person's thoughts funneling through him like he was an antenna. Foreign emotions clashed, anger and love, joy and sadness, too many, too much at once. He couldn't focus, could barely stand. He was slipping and he couldn't stop it, couldn't even slow himself down.

His eyes were half-lidded, barely registering anything that happened. It was like he was asleep; everything was a blur, he was losing himself in the sea of thought. He couldn't even hear words anymore, just noise, so much _noise_.

No one noticed the way the papers in newsstands fluttered as he walked by, how the streetlights flickered and music devices went static-y. A few people developed sudden migraines while others found themselves suddenly dizzy. No one _had_ noticed, that is, before it happened.

Domino ducked past a couple standing near the curb, seeing the train station a block away. She held Harry's hand tighter, picking up the pace, and therefore didn't notice the street vendor's cart coming around a corner until it was right in front of her. She jumped to the left but not quite far enough; the edge of the worn hoodie caught on one particularly sharp corner and hooked, yanking the oversized garment clear off her shoulders.

For a moment everyone froze, all eyes instantly gravitating towards her. The wide-eyed owner of the cart, the businessmen and women on their phones, even the children stopped to stare at the blue skinned girl. Her Camp X-Ray uniform was visible for all the world to see, branding her a mutant even more than the pigment of her skin.

" _Mutant!"_ someone cried, breaking the silence. And with it the world unfroze. People yelled out and leapt back, knocking over their neighbors in their haste to get away from her. Some just stared, wide-eyed, while others grabbed their phones to call for help.

Harry screamed, dropping the shopping bag as his hands flew to his head, wave after wave of _fearhateconfusion anger so much anger_ poured in. Voices screamed into his mind, disgust, hatred, and fear forcing him to his knees.

Shop windows blew outward, the shockwave knocking people to the floor as glass shards tumbled through the air. Streetlights exploded with loud pops, the metal shafts curling and warping like giant reaching arms. Car horns shrieked as they were yanked from the street, several tons of metal lifting off the asphalt as the ground began to crack and split.

Hands grabbed at him and he fought wildly, unable to differentiate friend from foe. Broken glass swirled through the air around him and there was so much _painterrorhatred—_

And then suddenly there wasn't. Harry's muscles gave out and he collapsed to the ground, gasping, as all the noise was ripped away. He forced himself to look up and he stilled, eyes widening.

Everyone had frozen. Men, women, and children had gone utterly still, like statues. Pointing, eyes wide, but completely motionless.

The glass was still flying around him but as soon as he realized this the pieces were released, falling to the ground around him. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, looking around wildly. Had _he_ done this?

_Not quite, Mr. Potter._

Harry gasped aloud, grabbing at his head as the voice echoed through his mind. He clenched his eyes, expecting the flood of thought to return, but several seconds passed and the silence— _wonderful beautiful silence_ —remained.

"W-Where are you?" He asked aloud, looking around. Everyone was still frozen, even Domino. He moved towards her but hesitated, wondering if it was safe.

_Don't be alarmed, your friend is perfectly fine. I've merely frozen her and the others for a moment to help you regain control._

He reached out hesitantly and brushed his hand against her skin, confirming that she was indeed alive, at least. That done he looked around once more, trying to figure out who was speaking to him. "How'd you do that?"

_Like you, I am a telepath._

"I'm not a—" Harry started instinctively before cutting himself off. If the stranger really was a telepath then he could be reading his thoughts, and so the teen quickly tried to think of anything other than magic, which was much more difficult than it appeared. "What do you want?"

_To help. Your abilities are out of control and your brain is unused to utilizing that much power. Without assistance your mind will eventually burn itself out from the strain._

One hand brushed his head as he remembered the awful agony of having a hundred people's thoughts colliding at once. It was the most painful, horrible thing he'd ever experienced, and the blessed silence that he was enduring now was a relief. "Who are you?"

"My name is Charles Xavier."

Harry whirled around, eyes widening at the sight of a man in a wheelchair making his way towards him, weaving between the frozen people. He came to a stop beside Domino, smiling up at Harry. There was something about him that reminded Harry of Dumbledore—minus the hair, or lack thereof. Perhaps it was the gleam of intelligence in his eyes.

"How did you do that?" Harry questioned, gesturing to the people around him.

_You're not the only one with gifts._

He grimaced, pressing his hands to his ears in an instinctive attempt to block out the mental voice. "It's not a gift, it's a curse."

"Only if you let it be." The old man folded his hands neatly in his lap as he assessed Harry. "I was once very much like you. I couldn't silence the thoughts of others; it was overwhelming, suffocating, and I thought it would drive me mad. But in time I learned that any ability, no matter how extreme, can be controlled."

"You think I haven't _tried_?" Harry snapped, glaring at the man as he curled his hands into fists. "I've been trying to shut them out ever since it started! But they _never_ stop."

"You don't need to suppress your power, Harry. It is a part of you as much as your hearing or sight and, just like your senses, cannot be removed. However, you can learn to control it like any other ability." He stretched out one hand imploringly. "You don't need to run anymore. Let me help you."

Harry glared down at his own hands, remembering the joy he'd felt when he'd first used magic. It had been an escape, the chance to be someone more than the Dursleys' freakish nephew. Whether or not this power came from his magic, it was violent and chaotic and he wanted no part of it.

He looked up, taking in the destroyed street, courtesy of him. The broken asphalt, empty windows, and dented cars were all a result of just a tiny outburst; how could he hope to prevent another incident like Camp X-Ray without help? And if this man really _could_ stop him from hurting anyone else, how could he say no?

Finally he nodded. "Alright."

And Harry took Charles' hand.

* * *

**Mutant Cameos: Charles Xavier/Professor X; Ability: Telepathy**


	5. Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just so you know I have gone back and made some edits to earlier chapters, particularly Chapter 3. The plot hasn't changed any, I simply tweaked certain things and added an extra scene. I try to avoid belated editing but sometimes it is necessary.

_Random X-Men Fact: While all mutants are often referred to as 'Homo Sapien Superior', there have been times when telepaths are viewed as a higher form of mutant, sometimes called 'Homo Sapien Supreme.'_

* * *

_ Chapter 5 – Ultimatum _

For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry's mind was his own once more. No more voices, no more emotions, none of that horrible, _horrible_ power he hadn't been able to escape. He'd forgotten what it was like to be able to think without the underlying current of indecipherable chatter echoing in his skull.

He watched the city speed by, finally getting a chance to take in his surroundings without the haze of psychosis dangling over him like a noose. As a kid he'd always longed to travel, to get as far away from Number 4 Privet Drive as he possibly could, and though the circumstances weren't the best, he was still living that dream now.

Professor Xavier had—after unfreezing Domino—led them to a car parked not far away, not releasing his psychic hold on the crowd until they were long gone. He had explained to them that, while normally he disliked using his powers on unwilling participants, sometimes such diversions were necessary to prevent violence.

"I've heard of you," Domino declared, her posture rigid as they navigated the crowded city streets. "You made pleas to Congress in the early 90's when they first proposed mutant containment. But you never told them you were a mutant."

Xavier smiled, though his eyes never wavered from the street before them. "Those were different times," he told her, his voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. "Back then mutants had only just been discovered, many people didn't even believe we were real and those that did thought we were clearly identifiable."

Domino frowned deeply, asking, "Did you use your powers to convince them not to pass the Containment Act?"

At the question Xavier actually glanced back at her, his smile fading slightly. "I do not make a habit of controlling others' minds," he said in a gentle voice. "Exerting my will over others would make me no better than the ones who want to control us."

Harry could tell Domino didn't agree, though she chose not to respond and instead settled for crossing her arms and looking out the window. He took the chance to ask the question he'd been pondering. "Why haven't I—I mean why am I not—"

"Hearing everyone's thoughts?" the telepath finished, earning a nod. "Back at the street it was because I had momentarily shut down all the minds in your immediate vicinity, giving your powers nothing to lock onto. But currently I am merely holding them at bay with my own, at least until we get back to my school and I can teach you to control your abilities, and one day use them."

Harry's gaze snapped back from where he'd been looking out the window. " _Use_ them? I don't want to use them; I want them to go away!"

The man sighed slightly, having already had this argument with him. "At least let me try," he pleaded. "Let me show you that this power isn't just one of destruction, that it can be used for good too."

Harry looked to Domino, his friend sensing his gaze and meeting his eyes. Her brow was still furrowed in a frown, clearly distrustful of the professor, but her shrug was acknowledgement of their lack of options. After all they'd lost any chance of subtle escape when they were outed to over a hundred pedestrians.

"Fine," he muttered, hating how powerless he felt. Without his wand, broom, or even Hedwig, he was entirely reliant on others, something he hated. Even though he trusted Domino, and though Xavier seemed to be on their side, Harry had never been very comfortable with being subject to the will of others. But maybe this telepath could help him get back home, which was all he really needed in the end.

"How are you supposed to get us out of here anyway?" Domino asked, breaking her silence as two cop cars sped by—both teens ducked down instinctively. "They're probably setting up roadblocks all over to make sure we don't escape. Are you gonna fly us out of here?" Her tone carried her disbelief in such a possibility.

Strangely Xavier smiled at this, turning the car down a side road which cut away from the main street and towards the row of abandoned storage facilities at the edge of the city. Harry watched as the buildings fell away, the strangely deserted warehouses blocking the view of the high-rises and cars. Faded signs decorated their walls, names like 'Roxxon' and 'Oracle' peeling from stained wood.

"What are we doing here?" Domino asked, her hands balling into fists in preparation of a fight as the car turned into a large empty lot surrounded by high buildings. It was a perfect place for a trap if Harry had to guess.

Instead of answering, Xavier merely reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small black remote, pointing it through the windshield, pressing the large red button in the center.

Suddenly the air in front of the car began to ripple like water, empty space shifting and warping as smooth black metal began to emerge from nothingness. With the speed and appearance of a cloth being ripped away, what was once just a dirty lot now held a sleek, futuristic aircraft that wouldn't have looked out of place in one of Dudley's spy movies.

Xavier turned to look back at them, smirking slightly at their dumbfounded expressions. "Now, what was it you were saying about flying out of here?"

* * *

"No, no, no! I will _not_ have it!"

Cornelius Fudge cowered away from the Prime Minister's rage, his bowler hat held tightly in clammy hands as he nodded pathetically. At his side Lucius Malfoy fought the urge to scowl, only his many years serving the Dark Lord allowing him the self-restraint to keep his face impassive in the face of the muggle's outburst.

"I have listened to your excuses for a _week_ , Fudge, but you aren't any closer to figuring out who attacked Little Hangleton, are you?"

"The investigation is ongoing," Fudge said placatingly, trying his best to sound confident. "Dark wizards are notoriously difficult to track down, even with my best Aurors—"

"Well your best isn't good enough," Prime Minister James Jasper snapped. "Your track record shows a stunning lack of ability in apprehending criminals in your world as well as a notable apathy for any innocents caught in the crossfire."

"That's not true!" the Minister of Magic all but shouted in offense. "The safety of muggles is a top concern, just as keeping our world separate from your own is!"

Jasper turned away for a moment to grab a packet of papers sitting on the edge of his desk, waving them in the air. "Do you see this?" he demanded, shaking them in Fudge's face. "I did some digging and you know what I found? Over a _dozen_ large-scale incidents in just the last hundred years, all with ties to your world. All of which lead to the deaths of thousands if not _millions_ of innocent, non-magical people. So tell me again about how 'the safety of my kind is a top concern.'"

"Those were isolated incidents!" Fudge protested feebly, holding out a hand in an attempt to placate the man. "We were able to contain them—"

"November 1st, 1991," Jasper cut him off, reading from the list. "Dark wizard Sirius Black destroys an entire street, killing twelve people and injuring twice that many. June 18th, 1972; a broom-riding wizard is pulled into the engine of British European Airways Flight 548, killing all 118 aboard. August, 1932; twenty-three dead and over fifty badly burned after a rogue dragon attacks Ilfracombe, Devon. September, 1919; a group of escaped—"

"Those were contained!" Fudge cut over him, louder this time, face flushing indignantly. "The Ministry of Magic has always done its utmost to uphold the Statute of Secrecy and keep the magical populous safe!"

"Keep _you_ safe!" Jasper retorted loudly, hands clenching. "You're missing the point entirely! We face enough threats with renegade mutants, the last thing we need is a group of wand-wielding lunatics hurting innocent people! You are so concerned with keeping yourselves safe, keeping your world secret, that you fail to consider the danger that you _freaks_ pose to _us_!"

He slammed the packet down on the table, turning to Fudge with fire in his eyes. "And this doesn't even _touch_ on the catastrophes dealt by these so-called 'Dark Lords'. Your wars cost hundreds of thousands of innocent lives yet never _once_ has your kind stepped in to assist us in ours. So tell me, _Minister of Magic_ , why should I give a rat's ass about the safety of your community? As far as I'm concerned, you deserve whatever hell you've suffered."

Fudge wilted, anger-driven bravado vanishing as he floundered for a response. Lucius, having been silent for the entire exchange, took this as his cue to step in. "I believe you are forgetting one thing, Minister," the blond spoke up, his tone a touch patronizing. "Not all of us think highly of muggles and there are those among our kind who wouldn't shy from attacking them given the chance."

Jasper's gaze turned to Lucius, flicking up and down his form as he took in this new verbal opponent. "This isn't the Dark Ages anymore; magic isn't the only power on Earth. You might be able to snap your fingers and turn water into wine but are you fast enough to stop a bullet? Are you powerful enough to block an atomic bomb? War isn't something I take lightly, but you're a fool if you think you can win."

Lucius bared his teeth in challenge, eyes glinting. "And so are you to underestimate us. The deaths you've described happen purely by accident; how many do you think would fall if we were _trying_?"

The Prime Minister took a step forward until his face was an inch from the pureblood's. "Don't mistake my tolerance for acceptance. You are no better than the mutants; superpowered aberrations running around causing destruction and death everywhere you go. Just because I think that your world needs to stay hidden doesn't mean I will hesitate to see you in chains with a number burned into your forehead."

"I'm glad you agree about the need for secrecy," Fudge declared, interjecting himself back into the conversation. "I'll be sure to let you know if—"

"I'm not finished. The existence of your community needs to be secret, yes; _however_ , I will no longer stand by and let you put my citizens' lives in danger. Consider this a warning, Minister, to your entire world. I will give you two weeks to find the culprit behind the Little Hangleton attack and put them behind bars. If you fail, or if anyone else dies due to your negligence, the Registration Act will be the least of your problems."

"And if we refuse?" Lucius asked, free hand grabbing the shaft of his cane in preparation to draw his wand. After all Jasper was just a muggle, highly susceptible to an _Imperio_ or _Obliviate_.

Jasper's eyes followed the motion, a slight smile flickering over his lips. "I'm not the only world leader to know about your world, nor the only one sick and tired of letting you walk all over us. You do anything to me and they'll be sure to make your whole world _burn_." His gaze slid to the petrified Fudge, lip curling in a sneer at the sight of the quivering man. "Two weeks, Minister. Use them well."

* * *

"The greatest misconception about telepaths—about all mutants, really—is that our powers vary very little from person to person. While it is true that many mutants share similar powers, it is in fact quite rare for two unrelated individuals to possess perfectly identical abilities."

Harry stifled a yawn, clearly trying as best he could to focus on the man's words even while his body craved sleep. Xavier felt a bit guilty forcing the boy to listen to one of his well-known lectures when what he really needed was sleep; normally he wouldn't have made such a request, but it was important for Harry to get at least a rudimentary handle on his powers lest he suffer a psychic episode in the middle of the night. Xavier had witnessed and experienced more than his fair share of them and knew that the more tired you were the harder it was to suppress such outbursts.

The flight back to the Institute hadn't taken long, especially given the enhancements made to the Blackbird after the Alkali Lake incident, but Harry had spent the entirety of it in an exhausted haze, too tense to fall asleep and too exhausted to engage in conversation. Domino had remained beside him like a bodyguard, eyes ever-watching for any sign of betrayal. Xavier wondered what she'd do if she found any.

It was clear that the young woman was no stranger to betrayal. Her wariness of him was more telling than anything, her physical mutation likely not offering her much in the way of acceptance by others. He didn't have to probe her mind to know that she wasn't convinced that he didn't have some ulterior motive for helping them, and her reluctance to allow Harry to be alone with him made it difficult for him to confront the boy on his questions and fears.

The boy, however, was different. He was wary, yes, but cautiously hopeful at the same time, a surprising fact considering what he'd been through. It was why he'd accepted Xavier's request for a private meeting after they'd landed, even amidst Domino's protests. Some part of him believed in Xavier's wish to help him; the only question was what kind of help he wanted.

"Tell me Harry, how much do you know of genetic mutation?"

Harry squinted, eyes unfocusing for a moment. "Not much. It has something to do with evolution though, right?"

Xavier chuckled lightly and nodded. "Yes. In many ways, mutation is the core of evolution; it is how we have evolved from single-celled organisms to the dominant species on the planet." He paused for a moment as he deliberated how best to simplify it. "In each of us is a set of genes we have inherited from our ancestors. These genes are the blueprint for our entire physiological makeup. With me so far?"

The boy nodded.

"Good. Now sometimes these genes can have errors which result in aberrations—mutations. Mutations can be positive, such as an immunity to Malaria, or negative, like being born without an immune system. Good mutations are more likely to be passed on and, eventually, strengthen the species as a whole."

Harry nodded again, more slowly this time. "So that's where mutant powers come from?"

"Partially," the telepath corrected. "The abilities of mutants like us have been precipitated by the presence of the X-Gene in multiple generations. Though the name is a bit of a misnomer—the X-Gene is more than a single genetic factor—it has been correctly identified as the common denominator. When activated, this gene causes gross genetic overexpression, which leads to several varying levels of mutant ability."

Green eyes widened slightly as Harry looked a touch overwhelmed by the influx of information. "So all mutants have this… X-Gene?"

Xavier nodded. "However, not all mutants possess the same abilities. The expression of the X-Gene is tied to our overall DNA; the powers of any given mutant are as random and unique as they themselves are. Take telepathy for instance; we both possess the ability yet the exact nature of that ability isn't quite the same. My powers have always been geared towards influencing and controlling minds, while yours edge more closely to empathy and clairvoyance."

Tiredness forgotten, Harry leaned forward in interest. "Empathy?"

"I noticed that, more than just thoughts, you have been experiencing people's emotions, a trait more commonly found in empaths. I had a student with a similar form of telepathy, actually, who also suffered from the same struggles with her power."

For a moment Xavier felt his smile wilt as he remembered the vibrant redheaded girl, her struggle against the power within her never dampening her love of life. It had gotten easier to remember what had happened, especially knowing that it had been her sacrifice which had saved the lives of him and his students, but it didn't hold back the loss of losing one of his first students.

Harry's brow creased for a moment before it smoothed out. "What's this got to do with helping me stop it?"

The man decided against rekindling the argument about Harry 'stopping' his powers. It would only lessen the boy's hesitant trust and make it even harder for him to gain control over his abilities. He could only hope that, in time, Harry would come to see them for the gift that they could be. "The first step in controlling one's power is in understanding the extent and nature of it. So tell me; when did your powers first appear?"

For a fraction of a second Harry froze, and that second was extremely telling. Having spent many years teaching, Xavier had grown quite skilled at telling when a person was about to lie, even without using his powers. Which, based off the way his eyes avoided the older man's, was exactly what he did.

"I never knew until they took me."

He wasn't the first to lie to Xavier, not by far, but something about this was different from the others. Usually they were runaways; frightened, alone, suffering from years of persecution and gifts so extreme they endangered themselves and anyone around them. Harry had no reason to lie, at least on the surface; yet he was, and so what did that mean?

However, the telepath was also experienced enough to know his boundaries, and Harry's tentative trust in him was nowhere near strong enough to survive an interrogation. Therefore-though it went against all his experience as both teacher and counselor-he let the lie slide. "It was the telepathy which came first, I imagine?"

Harry nodded grimly. "They had me in this place… a hospital I think. They were studying me." He shuddered, expression queasy. "It's like I was them. I couldn't tell who I was anymore, there were just voices and feelings and-" He clamped his mouth shut and bowed his head, hands gripping the edge of his seat like a vice.

Xavier withheld a sigh. First impressions were difficult things. This would be harder than he thought. "The X-Gene manifests in times of stress, sometimes quite… explosively. It is unlikely that such an event would happen again."

"Except it did!" Harry snapped, verdant gaze locking on blue as he stood. "It's happened three times now and each time I thought I was going to die! I never wanted these powers! I hate them! I never asked to be a… a mutant!" He spat the word with vitriol, eyes ablaze.

"We do not get to choose who we are, Harry," the man answered in a level voice. "You are a mutant. That fact will never change, and rejecting that part of you will only hurt you in the long run."

Harry just shook his head, turning to look out the window at the rapidly falling night.

"Power is a burden as much as it is a gift," Xavier added in a softer voice. "It's like fire. The more you have the hotter it burns, constantly fighting to overwhelm and destroy you. But by understanding it, learning to control it, fire can be the greatest tool. Harry you are powerful—more powerful than you realize. You fear your abilities, and rightfully so, but if you don't find a way to learn control then you will _always_ be afraid of them."

A pained look flickered across the boy's face as he turned back. "I just—" He took a deep breath. "What if I _can't_ control it? What if hurting people is all I'm good for?"

"I won't lie and claim that it will be easy. You are not the first mutant whose powers are dangerous; yours are not even the most deadly I have ever seen. Just give it a chance and maybe you can learn to accept your gift for what it could be, if not for what it is."

Harry watched him silently for several moments, his mind warring between the two options he'd been given. This was different than accepting Xavier's hand yesterday, they both knew; that had been as a savior, a Good Samaritan offering assistance. But this was deeper; this was an offer of commitment, a promise born of hope.

"I need to think about it," Harry answered finally, turning towards the door with an air of finality. "And if I choose not to stay… can I go home?"

Even though it went unseen the professor nodded. "Of course. We are not like Trask or the MRD. From here on out, everything that happens is up to you." He smiled. "I have faith that you'll do what you feel is right."

Harry paused at the threshold of the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "Professor, that mutant you mentioned, the other telepath... what was her name?"

"Jean. Jean Grey."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Classic X-Men fans might recognize James Jasper as a comic villain who happened to be a mutant. His appearance here is strictly because I needed an anti-mutant Prime Minister and I despise OC's; as of right now he is neither mutant nor supervillain and that isn't likely to change.
> 
> I want to repeat for a third and final time that this story will NOT feature an overpowered mutant/wizard/wandless/etc. Harry. There are far too many stories like that and I dislike each and every one of them; the concept of mutant/wizard hybrids alone has always been one I want to avoid. The reason for the outbursts Harry has been having is going to be revealed within a few chapters, and trust me you won't see it coming.
> 
> Comments are terrific motivators, but three-word "Please update soon" reviews are a waste of both our time.


	6. Empathy

_Random X-Men Fact: The X-Men were originally going to be named 'The Merry Mutants', a title which was shot down due to an executive believing that people wouldn't know what a mutant was._

* * *

Chapter 6 - Empathy

_It was happening again._

_The jet was shaking, the light of the sun almost completely smothered by rushing water. The children screamed, clutching each other tightly as the metal walls protecting them shuddered and heaved. Storm struggled against the telekinetic hold on the controls, her blue eyes wide as she realized the futility of her fight._

_Scott could only stare, motionless, through the windshield. Just as helpless now as he had been the first time. Every muscle ached with the desire to leap through the glass and prevent the tragedy, but it was like he was glued to the floor._

_Jean's form was just visible through the rushing water, her outstretched hand parting the onslaught like the biblical Moses. With the other she reached back, calling upon power beyond anything he'd seen to simultaneously raise the jet from its entrapment in ice and snow._

_He pounded his fist against the glass, grasping for the release on his visor in a last, desperate attempt, only to find it immovable. He called out her name but his voice was muted even to his own ears, a pointless scream into the inevitable._

_But then Jean looked back for a moment as if hearing him, bright green eyes locking on his even through the haze of darkness and churning water. He could almost see her power now, rolling off her like a fiery halo, a drop of sunlight in the darkness. A soft, sad smile seemed to ghost over her mouth and he heard her final word, whispered through their psychic link, as she spoke it aloud._

_"Goodbye."_

_And then the water surged forth like a monstrous beast, swallowing her whole, extinguishing her light forever._

_"Jean!"_

Scott jerked upright, the cry still echoing in his throat as his chest heaved. He looked around wildly for several moments as reality reasserted itself, mind struggling to tear away from the vivid imagery he'd been subjected to.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, taking a long, slow breath to force down the nausea which swelled in his stomach. One hand removed his glasses, the other wiping over his clammy face in a vain attempt to suppress the tumultuous emotions raging inside him. For a moment he wanted to open his eyes, let all his grief and anger pour out of him in a single blast, before logic overtook emotion and he replaced his shades.

With another deep breath he forced himself to his feet, absently noting the sunrise through his windows. He stumbled to the dresser, mindlessly digging for a change of clothes when he caught his reflection in the mirror and paused.

He looked a mess. He looked  _ill_. His face was pale and shiny with sweat, rough stubble coating his jaw, lips dry and cracked. His dark brown hair was far from its usual neatness, sticking out every which way in tribute to his less than peaceful nights.

After a moment Scott looked away, ignoring the twinge of regret at allowing himself to spiral this far out of control. It had been almost a week since he'd taught any of his classes; over a month since he'd left the school. For a little while it had been getting easier, the dreams fading, but then after what happened two weeks ago…

Shaking his head he banished the thought, reminding himself of the bitter truth: Jean was dead and there was nothing he or anyone else could do to change that.

Pulling on a clean shirt he turned, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. The silence was unnerving, a reminder of the summer break and the absence of many of the students. Not all—many had no homes to return to—but enough to make a difference.

He made his way towards the stairs, for the first time in a long time craving an escape from the Institute. Aged walls that had once offered comfort were now oppressive, reminding him too much of what he had lost in service of the X-Men.

Bobby and Rogue were standing at the top of the stairs, pausing in their hushed conversation to greet him in surprised tones. He brushed past them with an absent wave, not wanting to get drawn into a conversation, mind already set on taking his motorcycle on a long ride away from the mansion. He didn't know where, just that he needed to clear his head.

Scott had almost made it to the garage when he felt the brush against his mind. His experience with telepaths was enough for him to recognize his mentor's way of gauging his mood and checking up on him, just as he'd done back when Scott was a teenager who would do anything to avoid talking. He almost sighed, knowing what was coming next.

_Scott_.

He almost considered ignoring the call, but he respected the old man far too much to do that. So, releasing the sigh he'd withheld, the man turned and made his way back towards Xavier's office.

He counted his blessings that the telepath was alone. Even with how vacant the school was Xavier was never short on people needing his help, student and stranger alike. As the number of mutants grew exponentially so did the tension with humans, and Scott hoped that Xavier's dream of peaceful cohabitation would pull through.

The door closed with a click and Xavier turned, eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Hello Scott."

Scott nodded, not even trying to return the expression since it would be seen through instantly.

Xavier's smile lessened a bit. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm sure you know exactly how I'm feeling."

Silence settled over them, the ticking of the clock the only sound in the room. It was uncomfortable and awkward, two words which Scott wouldn't have normally used to describe interactions with the professor.

Xavier clearly thought the same thing as he made his way around his desk, bringing his chair to a stop in front of Scott. "You've been having nightmares," he noted, cutting straight to the point.

The younger man winced. "How did you—" He cut off as he remembered who he was talking to.

"I haven't been listening in if that's what you're wondering," Xavier added, sounding almost amused. "But I've known you long enough to know when you're having trouble sleeping."

"It's nothing, Professor."

The man leaned back in his chair, watching for a long moment. "You've been hearing her," he seemed to realize, nodding considerately.

Scott's lips clamped shut, jaw clenching tightly as he withheld a denial.

"You and Jean shared a powerful psychic link, a rarity when you are not a telepath yourself. What you're experiencing is an echo, a remnant which your mind has yet to root out. I can remove it myself if you wish—"

"No," Scott cut him off sharply.

The older man closed his mouth for a moment. "Storm informs me you've missed several Danger Room sessions."

"Is that why you called me in? Do you want me to go back? Because I can—"

" _Scott_."

He went silent, looking down at his feet.

"This isn't about your teaching or attendance or anything like that. I'm worried how you're coping. It's been almost four months and you haven't begun to heal."

" _Heal?_ " Scott's head snapped up, eyes dark beneath red lenses. "Jean was  _everything_  to me. How am I supposed to heal from losing her?"

"Jean wouldn't want you to—"

"Jean can't want anything," he yelled furiously. "She's dead!" He whirled on his heel and headed for the door but stopped before opening it as he felt the anger drain away, having no true target. He let out a long breath, leaning forwards and letting his forehead rest on the cool wood. "I can't do it anymore, Professor. Everything reminds me of her. It's like some part of me is drowning alongside her and I can't do anything to stop it." He turned to face the room, leaning back on the door. "Alex offered to let me come live with him in Hawaii, to get away from it all. I've been thinking… maybe I should take him up on that."

"Running away isn't the answer. We need you here; the X-Men need a leader."

"I'm can't lead anymore!" Scott said, letting out a bitter laugh as he shook his head. "I can't focus on anything, let alone keeping them safe! Storm, Kurt, even  _Logan_  would be better than me. What good am I to you like this?"

"This is your home, Scott. You're more than a teacher to many of the students; you're a friend. And with everything that's going on in the world—the Cure, Trask, Magneto—we need you more than ever."

Scott just shook his head once more. "I'm a liability. All it'll take is one mistake for someone to get hurt or killed because of me, all because I can't focus. Face it Professor, I can't help anyone, even myself."

Xavier's lips pursed in a frown, eyes sad. He turned to look out the window for a long moment, seeming to search for the right words, before something flickered over his expression. "Then would you consider doing one last thing before you go?"

The younger man, having moved to open the door once again, paused at his mentor's words. "What is it?"

The telepath looked at him, eyes alight. "Last night I brought back a new student. His name is Harry. He is psychic; however, his abilities are… explosive, to say the least. Because of this he fears his powers and seeks to have them removed, not controlled. Speak to him, Scott. Convince him that there is another way."

"I—I don't understand," the man answered, releasing his hold on the door. "Why me? Why not Storm or you?"

"Because more than any of us you know what it means to fear your own potential. And you know what it is to feel alone in this world."

Scott's chest grew tight and he swallowed, deeply aware of how Xavier was manipulating him but also understanding the man's reasoning for it. Ruby-quartz-covered eyes slid to the pictures on the desk, settling on the one in front. It was of Jean and him as teenagers, faces stony and bodies tense, the first two students of The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. Back then he would have done anything for someone to have understood his plight; something Xavier, for all his powers, could not.

What would Jean do?

"Alright Professor," he answered after almost a minute of contemplation. "I'll do it."

* * *

The sun was shining high in the sky by the time Scott left the professor's office. While a part of him was still itching to leave, get as far away from here as he could, an even larger part wanted to honor what he'd said to Xavier, and knew that this boy might benefit from his help.

Ever since the first class of X-Men stayed on to become teachers, they had each specialized in not just scholastic subjects but in their interactions with the students. The children who came to the Institute were of all kinds; runaways who hated all humans, loved children with nothing to hide, and those who were merely trying to find a helping hand.

Storm specialized in the first kind: mutants who thought themselves better than their human counterparts. After all when Ororo was a girl she had been hailed as a goddess, treated as royalty in her native village in Africa. She understood better than anyone how easily such power could go to your head and make you truly believe that you were divine. She was also the only one who had no qualms with teaching the arrogant ones their limitations the hard way; "tough love" as she called it.

Xavier, of course, had a more gentle approach. He was the face of the school, the one concerned parents looked to for guidance. He introduced those who knew little of being hated, the ones with beautiful or invisible mutations that had never faced down prejudice and cruelty.

And Jean… Jean understood the ones who were feared. The ones whose families or friends couldn't look them in the eye because of their abilities. Jean's parents loved her, yes, but they had feared her gifts, feared the possibilities of them. They never treated her badly, never showed a glimmer of that fear, but she knew. She always knew.

Scott shook his head to banish the dark thoughts, reminding himself why he was here as he made his way outside, where Xavier had told him to look. He paused for a moment at the threshold, feeling the sun on his face. He had forgotten how good it felt to be outside, to feel the energy of the sun absorbing into his body. It felt nice to be 'fully-charged' as Warren used to say.

He made his way around the pond, his path taking him away from the mansion and towards the trees. Those trees had been there as long as he had, shielding the day-to-day mutant activities from prying eyes all around. A pang of regret coursed through him at not being able to see the green of it all; sometimes he really hated his glasses.

It took him several minutes to discover his target. The boy—Harry—was sitting on an old stone bench a short ways off the path, the largest oak tree proving him shade. Scott paused for a moment just out of sight, taking the chance to examine the newest student.

The boy looked to be about thirteen, his body trapped in that thin, gangly stage that came shortly after a growth spurt. His hair was dark, almost black, cut short and neat, and his eyes were clearly vibrant even without the color visible.

Scott absently noticed the faint resemblance Harry had to him. Not in looks so much—though there was some similarity in their facial shapes and coloring—but in the waxy complexion and circles lining his eyes. The resemblance wasn't amusing, though; it was depressing, as no child should have looked that worn down.

He took that moment to step forward, finally drawing the attention of the teenager. Harry's eyes were guarded, even as tired as they seemed. "Hello," the boy greeted warily, hands tightening on the edge of the bench.

Scott stopped several paces away, not wanting to risk spooking him. He offered a small smile. "Hi. Are you Harry?"

The boy nodded, still watching him with barely-concealed suspicion.

"My name's Scott, I'm one of the teachers here. The professor told me where to find you."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Scott just shrugged. "In case you had any questions." In his experience asking a teenage boy to open up didn't end well. "He might have mentioned that you were trying to decide whether or not to stay."

Harry's expression clouded over. "Are you going to try and convince me to stay?"

"No, no, that's up to you." Scott stepped forward and took a seat on the bench, pretending not to notice how the boy scooted farther down. "But Professor Xavier is a busy man so if there's anything you need to know just ask me."

Harry went silent, peering at him curiously for a while before speaking. "Are you a telepath too?"

"No," the man answered. "Though I am a mutant."

"Oh." Harry seemed to want to ask what, exactly, was his ability, but also appeared too nervous to. "Is everyone here a mutant?"

Scott nodded. "Professor Xavier founded the school to help teach mutants how to control our powers," he explained. "He told me once that he would love to expand it to include normal children too, to help us learn to coexist, but the world isn't safe enough for that yet."

The boy grimaced, clearly understanding what he meant. "Why do people hate mutants so much?" Based off Harry's expression the question was one he'd been wondering about for a while. "I saw what they did to mutants in Camp X-Ray. It was  _horrible_. They act like mutants are monsters but they're just people; how can they treat people like that?" He looked to Scott with wide eyes, seemingly begging for a rational explanation to the horrors he'd seen.

Unfortunately Scott didn't have one. "Fear. It's human nature; people—human or mutant—fear what they don't understand. They fear mutants because our powers, our looks, our claim to the future. Not all of them hate us of course, but the ones that do have the loudest voices."

"Is it really that bad?"

"It's… complicated. Some of the students here don't have anyone. Or worse, some have anti-mutant parents who don't know their kid is a mutant and think this is just an ordinary prep school. And they know that if anyone finds out they'll be kicked out by their own family."

Harry grimaced and Scott wondered if Harry had endured similar treatment.

"My parents died when I was a kid," the man continued. "I ended up in a coma for almost a year and after that I was put in an orphanage. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either. And then my powers came and it got ten times worse."

Harry frowned, obviously wanting to ask, and so the man answered anyway.

Scott tapped one of the red lenses. "Energy blasts from my eyes. I can't shut them off, can't control them, the moment I open my eyes without these on I destroy anything in my line of sight. Being an orphan was bad enough, being a mutant orphan didn't make my life any easier."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. "Did Professor Xavier help you too?"

Scott nodded. "I was all alone; I didn't have anyone to turn to. When my powers came I destroyed a crane and nearly killed a lot of people. I was blind and lost, wandering for hours before he found me and took me in. I thought I was a monster, but he showed me I wasn't. He brought me here, taught me that I could use my powers to help people."

"Help them?"

"There are mutants who believe we're better than normal humans," he explained, thinking of Magneto. "They think that their powers give them a right to hurt and dominate other people. The government isn't capable of controlling them so Professor Xavier taught us how to do it ourselves; how to use our powers for the greater good. We call ourselves the X-Men."

"X-Men?" For the first time Harry cracked a small grin. "Really?"

Scott found himself smiling slightly. "It wasn't my idea," he retorted, shaking his head. "Regardless, it fits. And it helps show the world that not all mutants are bad, that our powers can be used for good too. Every year more and more children are born mutants and if we don't work to keep the peace then the fighting will never end."

Harry's grin faded slightly and he sighed. "My aunt and uncle are like that," he admitted. "They don't like people who are different from them."

It was the first time the boy had admitted anything about himself and Scott perked up a bit at the information. "What about your parents?"

"They died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Harry gave a small shrug, eyes downcast. "I don't remember them. I know they loved me, they died to protect me, but all I have are some pictures and the things people tell me about them. I know they were… special, like me."

Scott felt a pang of empathy for him, his story not too different from Scott's own. "You mentioned an aunt and uncle; you grew up with them then?"

The boy nodded, eyes unwavering from his lap. "They never cared much for me, but they still took me in after my parents died. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible," he added, unconsciously mimicking Scott's earlier sentiment. "But then I met some people who told me that I was different and helped me. They're probably worried about me. I know I need to get back as soon as possible, but what if I hurt someone again?" He looked up at Scott with worried emerald eyes.

Acting entirely on instinct the man reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry stiffened for a moment, surprised, but didn't jerk away like before. "It's human nature," he repeated. "Mutant or not, we all fear what we don't understand. But you  _can_  learn to control your powers." He cracked a grin, gesturing to his glasses. "If I can then you can."

Harry's lips twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. "You think so?"

"If there's one thing I know, it's that Professor Xavier always does what's best for his students."

* * *

_…and there is no news yet on the source of the blast, though rumors continue to circulate whether or not it was related to the destruction of Little Hangleton. Genoshan Prime Minister David Moreau has yet to confirm or deny any rumors other than to thank Trask Industries for their assistance in rebuilding. Many of the mutant captives of Camp X-Ray have escaped, and though authorities have been provided with their identities it is increasingly difficult as the mutant/human tension rises—"_

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Domino spoke up from behind Harry. He turned quickly, smiling at the sight of her; they hadn't spoken much since they'd arrived and he'd been meaning to ask her what she thought. "'Mutant/human tension', as if  _we_  were the ones to pick this fight."

He looked back at the screen, wincing at the image of Camp X-Ray. While his outburst hadn't destroyed it completely it  _had_  pretty much rendered it unsalvageable. The entire structure was damaged to the point that the only way to fix it would be to tear it down and rebuild it completely. "I wish that never happened," he admitted, grimacing as he remembered the loss of control. It hadn't happened again, but he couldn't help feel like the moment he used his powers it would, regardless of what Xavier said.

"Why?" Domino hopped over the back of the couch and landed beside him, gaze fixed on his. "You saved a lot of lives there."

"I took a lot as well," he retorted sharply. Sure, only the scientists in the room with him were actually killed, but there were many others who had been grievously injured in the process. The words used by the reports— _monster_ —drove home the true effect of it.

" _They_  were the monsters," she replied in a cold voice, instantly picking up on his thoughts. "They deserved it."

He just shook his head. "No one deserves to die like that."

"They were going to  _cut you open,_  Harry! Dissect you and use you in their machines! They don't give a damn about us; we're just freaks to them."

He winced again at the word. "But they didn't have to  _die_!"

"You really think there was another way? That this could possibly end in anything other than bloodshed?" She grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it; he started to turn away to protect her modesty but paused when she only raised it a few inches, revealing a thin scar travelling down her side. "My brother was a mutant, like me. My mother didn't like that."

"I thought your mother didn't care that you were a mutant?"

"She didn't care that  _I_  was a mutant." Domino's lip curled in disgust. "I was something to be pitied, to assuage her own guilt at her pathetic life. But Lazarus—my brother—was powerful. He could make people do whatever he wanted, anything at all. He didn't know what he was doing; he was only five years old, he didn't know his powers scared people."

Coldness filled his stomach as he realized where this was going and he looked down, wishing he could stop her but not being able to bring himself to.

"She thought he was too dangerous to live. Thought that he'd turn  _dark_  or something." She scoffed in disgust, looking straight at Harry and meeting his eyes. "One day she asked me to run to the store."

Suddenly Harry caught a flash of images, emotion-fueled memories shoving their way into his mind:  _a convenience store on a street corner, a ratty teenage boy reading a magazine behind the counter, a bottle of milk in a blue hand_ —

"She took my brother to the lake near our house. He couldn't swim, you see, but he loved the water anyway. We used to joke about getting him a backpack leash."

_A little boy who looked just like Domino right down to the mark around his eye, an older woman with blonde hair and eyes tinged with fear holding him too tight, a large dark lake surrounded by trees—_

Domino's voice grew heavy, her eyes unmoving from his. "I got home and didn't realize what happened until it was too late."

_The bottle of milk smashing on the floor, a sprint down the street, the woman huddled on the grass while a limp form floated in the water, a scream—_

"I tried to save him. My mother told me to stop; she threatened me with a knife." One blue hand brushed against the scar. "But it wasn't me who the knife ended up in."

Harry tore his gaze from her, feeling sick, trying to push out the images.  _The pale face of the little boy drenched in water, the woman's body stained red, Domino's hands clutching her bleeding side—_

"Stop!" He all but cried, grabbing at his head as he forced the images away, ignoring the pain which exploded behind his eyes as he shoved it down.

Domino sat back, watching him silently. "Not all humans are evil, Harry," she said in a soft voice. "But not all of us can fight back. For every mutant with powers like yours or mine there's one who can't defend themselves, or a child who doesn't know how.  _Those_  are the ones who men like those scientists go after,  _those_  are the people they hunt down and dissect. So forgive me if I sleep a little better knowing they're dead."

He shook his head, fingers pulling at his hair as he crushed down the memories invading his thoughts. "But I'm the one who killed them," he hissed, eyes shut. "I  _remember_  it, Domino. I was in their minds; I remember it  _all_."

_The doctors screaming as their bodies shattered, too close to the source of the blast to survive—_

_Soldiers collapsing as the shockwave shattered bones, leaving them defenseless—_

_Hundreds of mutants freed as their cage doors malfunctioned, running free to strike down anyone in their paths who wore the Trask logo—_

"I've killed people too, Harry."

He jerked back in shock, her words cutting off his thoughts. "What?"

She glanced out the window, his jaw clenching. "There's a lot you don't know about me, kid," she declared in a soft voice. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

Harry had nothing to say to that so he simply bowed his head, hands clenched on his lap.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Domino said suddenly.

He turned to her, eyes wide. "What?"

"I'm leaving." She gestured around with one hand. "This place? I don't belong here Harry. This is a place for kids, for people who have  _hope_. I lost any hope in the world a long time ago." She looked down at her folded hands. "I'm going to join Magneto."

"Magneto?"

Domino pushed herself off the couch. "Professor Xavier believes in the goodness of humanity. He thinks we can learn to coexist—he has  _faith_. But blind faith has killed more than any disease, and if we stand by the humans will destroy us. Magneto knows this."

"Then let me come with you," he began, moving to stand, but she stopped him.

"You're not like me," she said with a sad smile. "You're still a good person; you still believe in peace. I can see it in how you defend them, even now. I saw how you talked with that teacher, Scott. This place, these people? They're like you. They believe. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe Xavier's dream of peace will prove right. But I can't take that chance, not again." One hand brushed her side and she closed her eyes for a moment. "I have to follow what I believe."

"But…" He looked down at his lap, trying to find the words to convince her to stay. Nothing came.

"I'm not a good person. Trust me when I say you're better off far away from me." She turned to go but he reached out, grabbing her wrist.

" _I_  think you're a good person. No matter what you think. You helped me when I had no one; that's got to count for something." He released her slowly, hesitantly, regretting the decision the moment he did it.

Domino's eyes looked suspiciously shiny as she forced a smile. "See you around, Green-Eyes," she answered softly.

And just like that she was gone.

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that Harry made his way to Professor Xavier's office, each foot feeling as though it weighed a ton. Letting Domino leave was one of the hardest things he had to do; the Harry of a few weeks ago never would have let her go without a fight. But now, now he could see that there were some fights which just weren't worth fighting. It was her choice, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

He knocked on the oaken door, the sound loud and ominous in the near-empty school. It was only a moment before he heard the soft "Come in" but that moment seemed to stretch on forever.

"Hello Harry," Xavier greeted him with a smile, closing the book he was holding as he gave the teen his full attention. Though his smile wavered a bit as he examined Harry he thankfully cut right to the chase. "I take it you've made your decision?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded, forcing down the fear clawing its way up his throat. "I'll… I'll try it your way."

Neither missed the phrasing nor the lack of promise in them. The idea of using his powers still made him recoil but if he could gain control, if he could know for certain that he'd never suffer another meltdown like before, then he owed it to himself to at least attempt it.

The agreement—however conditional—still elicited a broad grin from the old man. "Very good," he praised, reminding Harry yet again of a certain magical Headmaster. "In that case I would like you to follow me."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in confusion as Xavier made his way towards the door, gesturing with one hand for Harry to accompany him. The boy did, though he asked, "Where are we going?"

"I've trained quite a few mutant children in my day," the man said as he led Harry into the elevator down the hall, "and if there's one thing I've learned it's that displays of power are better left away from things like windows."

Harry had ridden the elevator once before, the night he'd arrived in the jet. That was also when he'd met another faculty member, the woman named Ororo. He'd seen her a few times in the halls but thankfully she never tried to make conversation with him, apparently sensing his reluctance to talk to others.

The basement was just as he remembered it. The harsh steel walls reminded him unnervingly of Camp X-Ray, and although the professor was present he still felt himself tense in remembrance. Enormous circular doors lined the hall and Harry had a feeling that it would be easy to get lost down here.

"This house has been in my family for generations," Xavier explained as they made their way down the hall. "When my parents died and I inherited it I decided to transform it into a safe haven for others like me, mutants, especially those who had no place else to go or who struggled to control their gifts. The upstairs are where the students live and learn; down here, however, is for something entirely different."

The wheelchair-bound man stopped before the door at the end, leaning forward slightly in his chair. Harry was surprised yet again when the door scanned the telepath and opened, a female voice greeting him like something out of one of Dudley's spy movies.

Xavier smirked slightly and Harry wondered for a moment if he'd heard that stray thought.

The room within was one of the strangest places the boy had ever seen, which was saying something. The smooth blue walls and spherical shape were odd enough but the moment he stepped inside he felt… something. It sent goosebumps racing across his skin and he found himself looking around, half-expecting to see eyes watching him from a dark corner.

Xavier was stopped at the end of the long platform, his back to a panel covered with dials and sensors, a strange looking helmet perched on top. "Welcome to Cerebro."

"What is this place?" Harry asked, forcing himself to stop looking around for the source of the feeling.

"An interesting fact about mutants is that, even with our different strengths and abilities, we all share an altered brainwave pattern." The telepath gestured to the room at large. "Cerebro is a computer of sorts, one which I can use to track that brainwave pattern. Normally my abilities are limited to the range of a few square miles, but with this I gain the ability to see across great distances with ease. That is how I was able to find you. What you are feeling is a side-effect; these walls are resistant to exterior thoughts and so give you a constant feeling of isolation."

Harry withheld a shiver. It didn't feel like he was isolated, it felt like he was being  _watched_. Like there was something lurking, just out of sight, a shadow creeping ever-closer—

"Why'd we come here?" he forced out, sticking his hands into his pockets in an attempt to remain focused.

"The last few times your powers have manifested the result has been… explosive, to say the least. If you suffer another such event, Cerebro will prevent it from harming anyone else."

"But what if I blow it up? There are other people and I don't want to—"

_"Harry_ ," the man intoned, cutting him off. "Trust me. You are not the first telekinetic I've taught and I know the nature of such abilities. I have full confidence that without an emotional trigger your abilities will be fully within your grasp. Mutant abilities usually react in times of great stress and it is that stress which causes them to grow out of your control. In fact I rather doubt your powers would even be able to reach those extremes without such a trigger."

Harry nodded slowly, the explanation making sense; an encounter with Voldemort could easily be described as 'stressful', as could near-dissection, though he absently wondered why his previous encounters with mortal danger never spurred it to life. Assuming, of course, that he  _was_  a mutant, something which he remained doubtful of.

Xavier frowned for a moment, tapping his mouth thoughtfully. "There are many mutants whose abilities are fully conscious," he began, slipping into lecture mode. "They are either 'on' or 'off' with a clear distinction between the two. Physical mutations are typically of this variety; the sort that require only desire to work. Your powers, however, seemed to be rooted in the unconscious part of your mind, reacting to your fears and instincts just as much if not more than your desires. This is why your powers have reacted so violently when you are in peril; your subconscious channels your abilities defensively, regardless of what you may or may not wish them to do."

This seemed to trouble him deeply, his brow lowering as something dark flickered across his expression. Harry felt a flare of mixed emotions, worry predominant among them, and took several seconds to recognize them as belonging to Xavier not himself. But just as quickly as they had appeared they vanished; he forced down the strange coldness that the action gave him. "Does that mean I won't be able to control it?" he asked worriedly, fearing his suspicions confirmed.

The professor looked up, the strange expression quickly being replaced with a reassuring smile. "I believe that nothing is accomplished by pessimism," he responded, raising an eyebrow challengingly. "Control is always possible, even if not in the way you imagine. Scott once believed, with good reason, that he was doomed to blindness, yet now he can function just as well as any 'normal' person. When my powers came I was in constant terror of losing myself within the minds of others. But with time any ability, no matter how potent, can be controlled."

The idea of control was, admittedly, deeply appealing. He hoped that it was something simple like Scott's glasses or his wand, something which he could hold and use as reassurance to himself. And preferably something he could use to prevent himself from ever using these powers again.

"Now I would like you to do something for me, Harry. I would like you to try and enter my mind."

Harry jerked back, eyes widening. " _What?_  No!" The idea of the crushing, overwhelming thoughts and emotions returning made his heart pound in his ears.

The Professor raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not asking you to delve into my thoughts," he added quickly, "I merely want you to try and consciously utilize your telepathy." He waited until Harry had relaxed a bit before continuing. "Ever since your powers manifested you have been... fighting them, for lack of a better term. Your telepathy connects you to the thoughts of others every moment, that connection growing stronger with emotion and focus. But when you fight it, directing your powers inward, you cause damage to your own mind, damage which could become permanent. I want you to let go instead."

Harry's first instinct was to argue but he hesitated, forcing himself to think about it. It was true that Harry had ended up in Domino's mind earlier, an event which coincided with emotional subject matter. And when he'd fought it he'd ended up with a painful headache, the same type of headache he'd had while on the run. Using these powers went against everything he'd learned but maybe, just maybe, he should try.

"Alright," he answered finally, focusing on the prospect of returning to Hogwarts to stave off the panic. "I'll try."

"Good." The man straightened in his chair, folding his hands and fixing his eyes directly on Harry's. "The most important thing is that you don't overthink this. Your powers are a part of you, just like any other muscle. When you use your arm you don't think about the motion, you focus on the result. I want you to breathe, relax, and  _want_."

Harry's brow furrowed at the vague, unhelpful instructions. He'd expected something more along the lines of McGonagall's lectures, instructions on  _channeling_  and  _wand movement_  and such. Magic was all about rules and specifics, but this? Feel, want, breathe?

He narrowed his eyes at the man, focusing on… well, on what he wasn't sure, just focusing. He strained to hear any kind of whisper or sensation but, of course, the one time he wanted to use these powers they failed.

_Focus on the result, not the action,_  Xavier's voice whispered in his mind.  _Your powers seek release; all you have to do is let them._

Open the door. Right. Just let go.

Harry took a deep breath as he tried again, going so far as to close his eyes this time. The aching silence of the room pressed down on him, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he did his best to obey the professor's instructions. There was no wand movement needed, no spell or rules, and while that should've made it easier he found himself aching for direction.

_Focus on the want. What do I want? Want control. Want to feel safe. Want to go home. Hogwarts. Friends. Magic. Want to be a wizard once again._

He focused on that goal, envisioning Hogwarts in his mind. This was just like the first time he rode a broom. All he needed to do was reach out and  _make_  his power listen to him, just like calling the broom to his hand.

_Up_ , he commanded, mentally reaching out with one hand.  _Come on. Up._

Something twitched, deep within him, just a tiny spark. But it was still enough for him to feel and he stiffened, stifling the urge to crush it down as he had before. Instead he called out to it again, letting it rise within him unrestricted.

_Up._

Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting—possibly a sudden burst of thought like a light-switch turning on—so it took him almost a minute to notice the difference. It started out as a whisper, faint and hesitant, and it was only when he focused on it that it began to grow. Just a few broken sounds at first, fragments spiraling at the edge of his consciousness.

_good… focus… concentrate…_

He jerked back instinctively, his grip on the power slipping as it started to withdraw. But before it could vanish completely he straightened, forcing down his fear as he called to it again. He fixated on the voice, this time letting it grow in pitch until the broken words were decipherable.

_Good Harry. Keep calm, keep it under control. Don't let it control you._

The spark was growing inside him, warmth spreading slowly through his body as he let himself draw closer to Xavier's mind. It was more than just words now; it was emotions, feelings and sensations that he could finally differentiate from his own. Pride, joy, curiosity, and a curious hint of worry that vanished just as quickly as it arrived.

Words couldn't describe what it was like to touch the mind of another. There was fear, yes, as there was danger just like when riding a broom. But further down there was euphoria, elation burning white-hot like a fire.

_Fire… I am fire._

Harry's eyes snapped opened, his body violently recoiling as something  _else_  brushed against his thoughts. He ripped himself from Xavier's mind, the action harsh enough to send him stumbling.

"Harry?" the telepath enquired, leaning forward. "What happened?"

Harry just shook his head, swallowing several times as he quelled the pounding of his heart. He slammed the lid down on his newfound power, silencing it in hopes of shutting out what he'd just felt. He could still feel the echoes of  _It_ , the memory alone enough to make him shudder. "That's enough," he answered softly; "I don't want to go any further."

The Professor seemed confused by his reluctance but nodded understandingly. "Feeling it, understanding it is the first step. You don't need to fear it anymore, Harry."

Harry forced a smile, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm tired," he spoke up, "can we take a break?"

"Of course." The old man cocked his head to the side curiously. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Harry lied, turning and making his way towards the door, trying to shake the feeling of being watched by the curved blue walls. It felt like they were shrinking, pressing in on him, a cold grip trailing up his spine as he did his best to block out the soft, eerie voice which still echoed in the back of his mind, spurring him onward in a futile attempt to run from it.

_I am fire. And life incarnate._

* * *

Three thousand miles away, Voldemort's eyes opened, a cold, cruel smirk curling across his lips as he reveled in the discovery of a psychic link he shared with one Harry Potter. A psychic link which had just been torn wide open from the other side, the Boy-Who-Lived's every thought and secrets laid bare for him to see.

" _Mutant_ ," the Dark Lord hissed, hand curling around his wand.

* * *

**A/N: I love Scott, he's easily my favorite character to write. He and Jean are probably my favorite X-Men, which is also why there has been such a delay on chapters; there are a few scenes in Chapters 8 and 9 which have been blocking me for a while and I finally got past them.**

**Have no fear, Domino is not gone forever! She plays a large part in the story later on, but for right now she needs to find her own path, as does Harry. If she'd stayed she would've spent most of the time hanging around in the background.**

**I'm sure several of my fellow comic-book nerds have some ideas where this is going but hold off on your assumptions at least until the next chapter, which will clear some things up. Not all, of course, but some.**

**Mutant Cameos: Scott Summers/Cyclops; Ability: Concussive Optic Beams**


	7. Pandora's Box

_Random Harry Potter Fact: Although usage of a wand is not necessary for the practice of magic, most of wizardkind is entirely dependent on it. This is because magic performed without a wand is imprecise and requires great focus, and though certain parts of the world specialize in wandless magic it has never gained popularity._

* * *

_Chapter 7 - Pandora's Box_

By the time Harry's lesson with Xavier had finished the sky was going dark again, another day gone. As he made his way up the stairs he wondered what was happening back home. Did Professor Dumbledore know that Voldemort was back? Was Voldemort attacking people, restarting his war, or was he waiting for the perfect moment? Were his friends alright?

A tired sigh left his lips as Harry opened the door to the room he was staying in, closing it behind him and leaning back against the solid wood. He'd never felt so  _useless_. He needed to be back home. He needed to talk to Professor Dumbledore and make sure everyone was alright, but he couldn't, not until he learned to control these new powers of his. Powers he'd never asked for in the first place.

He couldn't imagine what it was like to be a mutant, a  _real_  mutant. Witches and wizards had the benefit of secrecy; they were hidden from the world and the only hatred they faced came from their own kind. To be a mutant was to have  _everyone_  know, to be unable to hide, to have them point at you on the street and have you locked up for being born different. And if that wasn't bad enough they had to deal with powers beyond imagining, abilities which could hurt just as much as they could help.

Harry's hand flexed absently as he longed for his wand. He'd never realized how easy he had it before, how fortunate wizards were. Wands and spells made it easy, a simple 'point and say' way of using your abilities. Accidental magic was the worst it got and even that was rare. To live every day in fear, fear of discovery, fear of losing control? He'd only experienced a taste of it and it had nearly overwhelmed him.

Domino knew what it was like better than anyone. She'd seen her brother murdered, been forced to kill her own mother, been locked up and tortured all because the muggles were afraid of what she could do or how she looked. Mutants were supposed to be special,  _unique_ , a betterment of humanity, so why did it seem like everyone would be better off if they'd never existed in the first place, themselves included?

A memory surged to the forefront of his mind unbidden, his thoughts unconsciously echoing the same opinion he'd heard not too long ago.

_Zane was watching him recover from her latest bout of electroshock, her hands folded under her chin as she propped her head up on them. Brown eyes watched his panting through yellow-tinted lenses, the apathy in them even worse than outright hatred._

_Harry met her gaze evenly. "Why do you hate mutants so much?" he demanded, clenching his cuffed hands. He couldn't understand how someone could be so… so soulless!_

_Zane continued to ponder him for several moments, seeming to find the question curious. "I don't hate mutants, Harry," she answered him, the familiarity in using his first name making him scowl. "Some mutants can be quite extraordinary. But imagine if you will a world where mutants are everywhere. A world where your status is determined by birth, by the genes you're granted and not by your accomplishments." Zane stood from her chair, pacing behind it._

_"All my life I've been treated differently because of my race or gender. In a world where some people can bend the laws of nature on a whim what hope do the rest of us have? What would keep order and equality?" She stopped in her pacing, grabbing the back of the chair and leaning on it. "Did you know that seventy percent of the population carries the X-Gene? Dormant, yes, but all it takes is a generation or two for that to become active. In the past ten years the number of mutants has squared itself. What about ten years from now? Twenty? What will society be like when the entire world is comprised of mutants, when your neighbor can read your mind, when a coworker can create plagues if he gets angry? Power is dangerous in the wrong hands; do you really trust people to use theirs right?"_

At the time Zane's words had seemed cruel and heartless but suddenly Harry found himself understanding what she meant. Mutants were  _dangerous_ ; not just to others but to themselves. They had no government, no Ministry to protect and hide them, and it seemed like their inevitable fate was destruction. Either through others' hands or their own.

Sighing again Harry pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the bed, forcing his mind off the argument he'd been waging against himself for the past ten minutes. In the end it didn't really matter; he was a wizard, not a mutant, and this was not his fight.

Of course a tiny rebellious part of him wondered if that was true. He was a wizard, yes, but did that mean he couldn't be a mutant? He'd never heard of wizards reading minds or sensing emotions but that didn't make it impossible, right? After all if there was one thing he'd learned in the past few years it was that wizards weren't the most accepting of people who were different from them, be they muggleborns, part-creatures, or Parselmouths. For all he knew there were already magical mutants who just remained out of the public's eye.

And it was just as possible that this was indeed some form of magic! Magic could already do so much, why was mind-reading out of the question? After all he already knew that telekinesis required only a  _Wingardium Leviosa_ to perform.

Granted, intentionally using his powers without a wand was much different than accidental magic. Accidental magic was emotional, spur-of-the-moment, and extremely exhausting to perform. Wandless magic was ten times more difficult, that difficulty the very reason wands had been invented in the first place.

Using magic without a wand took  _decades_  to learn, the reason that most muggles thought of wizards as old men with long beards. It took such focus and skill that only a handful of past magic-users actually bothered to learn magic for anything more than parlor tricks. Transfiguration alone could take twenty years to utilize in even a basic sense, a far cry from McGonagall's classes.

Still, he had to  _try_. Maybe being 'The Boy-Who-Lived' actually did mean something. Maybe he actually did have some kind of super-strong magic. It was worth a shot, right?

Harry sat cross-legged on the bed, frowning for a moment as he pondered what to try. If these new powers were magic-based then he should be able to use it for other stuff. Something simple would be best, something he could easily identify as magic.

"Lumos," he spoke aloud, nodding his head once.  _Lumos_  was a simple spell, something easily recognizable as magic. " _Lumos_ ," he repeated with intent, circling his index finger in the air following the wand movement. " _Lumos!"_

He'd been expecting—hoping—for some kind of reaction, perhaps the tip of his finger glowing or something, but he was disappointed when nothing happened. " _Colloportus_ ," he tried in a louder voice, pointing towards the door as he attempted the Locking Charm. " _Colloportus_!"

Nothing happened again and he let out a cry of frustration, his teeth clenching as a dark foreboding sensation settled around his heart. He whirled around, not even bothering to mimic the wand movement as he reached out towards the clock on the bedside table. " _Accio!"_

Harry's eyes widened as the clock yanked itself from the wall and came shooting towards him, the boy barely ducking in time to avoid it. The timepiece shattered against the opposite wall and for a moment Harry was ecstatic, the display of power appearing to confirm his belief in his magic, before he realized what it could also mean.

" _Reparo_ ," he incanted, pointing at the shattered mess. It should have been easy, especially after what he'd just done, but the objects didn't even twitch. " _Reparo! Reparo!"_

Harry dug into the feeling he'd experienced during his failed Summoning Charm, forcing his magic out of him. " _REPARO!"_

A wave of energy entirely unlike magic burst out of him, the force strong enough to make the windows rattle and the lights flare. The shards of broken clock flung themselves in all directions, breaking into even smaller pieces upon their collisions with walls and ceiling, and at the same moment every object in the room leapt a foot in the air and slammed down with a thunderous  _bang._

Harry gasped aloud, the energy fleeing his body just as quickly as it had arrived. He knew instantly that what he'd just felt was not magic. Magic was like a trickling creek inside him, flowing where he desired and never out of control. But this? This was a raging inferno, a storm aching to burst free whenever he gave it the chance.

_What is this?_  He asked himself, staring down at his hands as if expecting to see the fire within.  _What am I?_

Suddenly Harry felt a sensation of intense dizziness. His hands turned blurry and faded before him. His eyes widened and he grasped for anything to hold onto but it was like he was falling, his vision darkening, and the last thing he saw before it all slipped away was a pair of gleaming crimson eyes.

* * *

The Great Hall was packed to the brim with students, all of them talking, eating, and laughing together. Glittering lights decorated the walls like it was Christmastime and even Snape was smiling.

Harry laughed at something Ron said, taking a bite of treacle tart as he looked around. He felt… happy. Really, truly happy for the first time he could remember. He wasn't sure why he felt that way but he knew that nothing could ever go wrong when he felt like this.

"I can't believe it's real," Hermione was saying as she spread out her copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  on the table. The title of ' _Dark Lord Voldemort Gone Forever!'_  flashed up at them, the photo of Dumbledore grinning as he held a gleaming medal. "It almost feels like a dream."

"This isn't a dream," Harry answered with a grin. "It's real. Voldemort's finally gone; I'm  _finally_  free of him!" He laughed again as Ron tried to shove an entire candied apple in his mouth and got caramel all over his face.

"I'm surprised your hero complex can take it," the bushy-haired girl continued, seemingly oblivious to the good mood shared by everyone else. "I thought you'd be furious that Dumbledore took down the Dark Lord."

Harry gave her a strange look. "Lighten up Hermione," he joked, pushing a tray of food towards her. "He's gone, that's all I care about."

"Is it?" Her eyes had taken on a strange gleam as she watched him. "I mean killing him has been your goal for years; can you really give up on that?"

He put the tart down as his good humor faded. "What's gotten into you?"

She was still staring. The other sounds of the Great Hall seemed to fade away as her dark eyes met his—why were her eyes so dark? "The Dark Lord killed your parents. Don't you want to stop him? Fulfill the Prophecy?"

"Prophecy? What are you talking about? And when did you start calling him 'the Dark Lord'?"

Then Hermione grinned, and instead of the buck-toothed smile he knew, her mouth was filled with razor-sharp teeth. And then her eyes began to shift, brown bleeding into blood-red.

Harry screamed and threw himself back from the table. But suddenly the table wasn't there anymore, the entire Great Hall was fading into smoke and all he could see were gleaming red eyes and a needle-like smile.

"What's the matter, Potter?" A voice hissed—and he knew that voice, he had dreamed about that voice for as long as he could remember. The smoke formed into soaring columns encircled by stone serpents, a wet floor that reeked of decay, and a statue of a robed man reaching high into the darkened ceiling.

The Chamber of Secrets.

"This can't be real!" Harry gasped, staggering back. "I can't be here!"

A dark chuckle came from behind him and he turned, his blood running cold at the sight of Voldemort in all his snake-like glory standing right behind him. Before Harry could react Voldemort thrust his hand towards him and he was flung backwards, sliding on the slick stone until he came to rest in the puddle of water at the statue's feet.

"Where am I?" He demanded, forcing himself to his feet. "This can't be real!" He looked around wildly, hoping to see some sign of what was happening, but the only thing he could see was the Chamber, darkness filling the spaces between the columns.

Voldemort walked towards him, eyes shining like jewels. "And why is that?" Voldemort asked, sounding genuinely curious. "Because this is your mind? Because I can't find you here?" His wand appeared in his hand and a bolt of scarlet light shot from the tip, slamming into Harry and making him scream as pain ripped through him.

After several seconds Voldemort lifted the spell, leaving Harry panting in the pool of water. "You should know by now, Potter," he whispered, his voice echoing through the Chamber as he looked down at Harry. "I am the most powerful being on Earth. You cannot escape me."

"H-How are you here?" Harry gasped out. If this was his mind then Voldemort couldn't be here, he had to be a dream, a nightmare—

The  _Crucio_  returned, forcing a scream from Harry before it was lifted.

"You and I share a link, Potter," he explained in a deceptively gentle voice, pacing in a circle around him. "Didn't Dumbledore tell you, or did he not trust you enough to admit the truth? We are connected. No matter where you are, no matter how far you run I can  _always_  find you."

"Are you here to kill me?" Harry demanded, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. The water was ice-cold, and knowing that it wasn't real didn't stop the pain he could feel throughout his body.

The man sneered down at him. "You will die, Potter, just like your muggle-loving parents. But first you will tell me  _everything_."

"I'll never tell you," Harry spat.

Voldemort smiled a not-so-nice smile. "Stupid child. You won't have a choice.  _Legillimens!"_

The not-Chamber swam before his eyes, his scar burning painfully as images flickered past.

_He was in the Third Floor Corridor, watching in horror as Quirrel revealed the face on the back of his head… He was in the Chamber of Secrets, stabbing Tom Riddle's Diary with a Basilisk fang… He was standing at the edge of a dark lake, a hundred Dementors swarming towards him with their hands outstretched… He was screaming, head seeming to split in two as his blood turned to lava in his veins and everything was crumbling around him…_

The pain in his scar doubled and the images faded away as Harry collapsed once more, breathing heavily, the urge to vomit powerful in the face of the invasion. He struggled even to lift his head, fear coiling through him at the murderous look on the Dark Lord's face.

"Where did you obtain such power?" he demanded, spittle flying from his lip. "Where?!  _Legillimens_!"

_He was leaning against the bars as Domino told him about his prison… He was lying on a cold metal table, voices pressing in on him from every direction, his head felt like it was going to explode… He was meeting Professor Xavier, awe and fear mixing at the man's power, the notion that they were the same…_

Voldemort pulled out again and Harry cried out in agony. The pain was even worse than the Cruciatus, worse than anything he'd ever felt in his life. He could feel Voldemort inside him even now, slimy and disgusting as he picked away at everything that made Harry who he was.

The sound of footsteps echoed around the room as his tormentor continued to circle like a bird of prey. Harry realized that he could feel the confusion, the anger and the disgust filling the Dark Lord. " _Mutant_ ," he sneered, stopping beside Harry. "Half-breed vermin. Which was it, your blood-traitor father or mudblood mother? Which stooped so low as to breed with muggle filth and produce a half-breed bastard?  _Crucio!_ "

When he finally released the spell Voldemort spoke once more, voice eerily devoid of the prior anger. "You can tell me, Potter. Tell me where you obtained such powerful magic and I will spare your life. A mutant though you may be, you still hold magic, powerful magic, and you would do well at my side."

Anger flooded Harry at the thought of joining him and he lunged for the invader, strength blocking out the pain. But Voldemort just cackled and flicked his hand, sending Harry flying back into the wall behind him, the teen wheezing at the collision. He strode forwards, slit eyes gleaming in pleasure, the emotion even more sickening than the anger. The darkness hovering around the edges of the Chamber was growing, consuming the stone pillars and closing in on Harry like a cloud of death.

"You're going to die, Harry Potter," Voldemort whispered, his voice echoing through the shrinking space. "The Prophecy was wrong. You are  _nothing_."

"I have to disagree."

Shock rippled through the link, intermingling with Harry's own as Voldemort whirled around, scanning wildly for its source. "Who is there? Show yourself!"

The encroaching darkness froze in its advance suddenly, and, like a rewinding video, began to quickly recede until the entire Chamber was illuminated in all its slimy glory. And there, standing in front of the door to the Chamber, was a familiar face.

"Professor Xavier!" he exclaimed, the words bursting out of him before he could stop it.

Xavier smiled and nodded. "Hello Harry," he greeted, walking forward. "I felt your distress and believed you were trapped in a nightmare. It appears I was mistaken."

Voldemort threw his head back and laughed; a high, cold sound which sent shivers down Harry's spine. " _This_  is the muggle who you believed so powerful?" His lip curled in disgust. "Pathetic."

Xavier appeared perfectly unruffled by the insult. "Muggle? I'm afraid I don't know the term." His gaze raked up and down Voldemort's form, appearing considerate. "You have a strong mind I'll admit. However, I must ask that you relinquish your hold on Mr. Potter's or suffer the consequences."

His request was met with a sneer. "You have no power over me," Voldemort spat. "I am Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, the most powerful being on Earth! And you are just a filthy diseased  _mutant_."

The calm expression the professor had been wearing vanished as he narrowed his eyes. "And what does that make you?" he inquired, taking several steps forward. "You claim to not be a mutant—what are you, then? You are not human, certainly."

"I am a  _wizard_. I wield magic beyond your feeble comprehension. I've conquered death itself!"

"Wizard? Magic?" Xavier scoffed lightly. "I fear your powers have damaged your mind if you believe in that."

Voldemort chose not to respond. Instead he held out his hands and the room began to shake, the chunks of stone breaking off the pillars as cracks spread across the ground. "You will die alongside him then,  _mutant_ ," he declared.

Pain blossomed in Harry's scar, spreading through his head.  _Voldemort's tearing apart my mind,_ he realized in horror.  _Just like Professor Xavier warned me about._

Xavier raised his hand, and everything froze once again. For a moment the slabs of stone hung mid-air before everything rewinded once more, stone slotting back into place as the room returned to its original condition. "You will not harm him." All traces of calm were gone and now his voice was hard as steel.

Voldemort did not take well to the threat. "You are  _nothing_!" He repeated, flinging out his hands. Power surged forth, taking the shape of a striking serpent which lunged towards the other man.

But again, before it could impact the professor raised his hand and it vanished. It was repeated again and again, but each time the attacks were halted before they could connect, not even one breaching the defenses.

"How!?" he demanded, his emotions surging through the link; confusion, desperation, anger, even fear. "What magic is this?"

Xavier halted in his approach, eyes fixing on Harry's. "This is your mind, Harry. He does not belong here. You must fight him!"

Harry could only shake his head, still pinned to the wall, a sign of Voldemort's continued control over him. Pain, laced with the Dark Lord's disgusting presence, was the only thing he could focus on.

Xavier swiped aside another strike. He couldn't do it forever, Harry realized, and apparently so did Voldemort for he was only increasing his attacks. "I can't hurt him without hurting you. He has a foothold in your mind; you must sever the connection and force him out!"

Any further communication was cut off as one of Voldemort's blows struck true, slamming into the telepath and sending him flying across the Chamber, a grunt of pain bursting from his lips as he collided with a column.

"No!" Harry cried, pushing back against the invisible hold with all his strength. "Professor!"

Suddenly the bonds gave out and Harry fell, his body crying out in agony at the collision. He felt as though he'd been torn open, a raw nerve exposed to the elements. There was nothing but pain, just hatred and violence tearing apart his most vulnerable place like a serpent sinking its fangs in, shredding his consciousness until there was nothing left.

In the distance Xavier and Voldemort continued to battle, their minds meeting like storm clouds, their power invisible yet all-consuming. Xavier was clearly the stronger of the two but Voldemort was ruthless in his attacks, striking not just at the telepath but at the Chamber itself, landing hits whenever the old man intervened to protect Harry's mind. It wouldn't be long before the invader succeeded; one way or another.

Bile rose in Harry's throat as he pushed himself to his hands and knees. Every part of him wanted to give in, to let himself fade into the darkness creeping ever-closer, but he couldn't let Voldemort win. He couldn't let Xavier die trying to save him, not like Cedric, not like his parents.

Harry tried to stand but stumbled, his shoulder slamming into the statue of Salazar Slytherin with enough force to make his vision go white. "Please," the boy screamed desperately, not even sure to whom he was begging. He closed his eyes as he dug deep, searching for any faint scrap of power to help him push back the darkness, but there was nothing left. "Please!"

There was no answer. His magic, his gifts, whatever abilities he'd thought he'd had, they weren't enough to save him. He was going to die. This was it. The end.

_I am fire. And life incarnate._

Green eyes snapped open, growing wide as he felt…  _something_. Something old. Something foreign. Something  _powerful_.

Suddenly there was a crack like thunder and the Chamber exploded with light, harsh and bright and hotter than the sun. It drove back the shadows, filling every crack and crevice and washing over Harry like a tidal wave, forcing him to the ground as the sheer  _might_  of it passed over him like a bullet.

Voldemort's eyes were wide with terror, hands outstretched in a feeble attempt to hold back the explosion. The light surged forward like a hungry animal, slamming into the wizard and hurling him back against the Chamber wall, pinning him just as he had done Harry.

Harry fought to raise his head but before he could Xavier was there, pulling him close and pressing Harry's face into his chest. "Close your eyes!" the man cried, covering their faces with his arm as the light pressed down on them.

And now Voldemort was screaming, a horrific sound which filled the air as he was torn apart, his voice breaking under the ruthless assault. Harry could not see him but he could  _feel_  the man's terror, feel the way his mind was dissolving beneath the light, his soul burning away to nothing.

"Stop it!" Harry screamed, his voice muffled beneath Xavier, "Please! Stop!"

The light grew brighter, bright enough to see even with his eyes closed, and Harry knew that this was something else, something dangerous and  _alive_  that didn't belong to him and that he should never have messed with, and they would be its next target—

And then Xavier was there, pulling him out, yanking him from his dream like a drowning victim. The Chamber bled away, the light dying as he was snatched from its grip, screaming furiously, and suddenly his vision was replaced with his bed, his room around him, and Professor Xavier's wide blue eyes.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was concerned. He didn't enjoy being concerned, though it was a mood he had been finding himself in more and more ever since the Third Task. It was only heightened by where he now stood.

Number Four Privet Drive was dark and empty, car absent from the driveway and windows lacking the same glow that the windows of the other houses did as the occupants enjoyed dinner. Its owners had only just left, escorted to a faraway safe house by the Order of the Phoenix, but Dumbledore had remained, the nagging sensation of forgetfulness forcing him to remain in place.

It had been lucky that the Order had been watching the house in hopes of Harry returning to it, as it was only thanks to Daedalus Diggle's quick thinking that Dudley Dursley hadn't fallen prey to a Dementor's Kiss earlier in the day. Three of the black-robed creatures had cornered the boy as he was returning home from a friend's house, attacking with a ferocity that revealed clear intent, not just a random occurrence.

Dumbledore had his suspicions as to the one behind this. The Ministry had as-of-yet maintained control over the creatures so it was more likely than not that one of them was behind this. Coupled with Fudge's increasingly desperate attempts to find a culprit for the Little Hangleton Massacre, as the press had dubbed it, Dementors Kissing the cousin of the Boy-Who-Lived could easily let them pin the destruction on a former Death Eater and make this out to be an anti-muggle hate crime. It was underhanded yet far from surprising.

However, that was not the only thing on the Headmaster's mind. He observed the house itself, waving his wand and silently casting a spell to examine the nature of the charms which had been put into effect nearly fourteen years ago. The ones he had placed—spells against Dark Magic, Dark Wizards and even malicious muggles—were still intact, but the magic laid by Lily Potter was no longer present. It was deeply concerning.

Dumbledore would freely admit that he did not fully understand the magic behind what Lily had done that Halloween night to protect her son. It was powerful, ancient magic which couldn't be utilized by wands or spells. He only knew enough to know that it was inextricably linked to Harry himself, and protected him from Voldemort so long as it remained. The loss of the Dursleys' protection did not necessarily mean Harry had lost his own safeguard but it was by no means a guarantee.

The Headmaster sighed, cancelling his own spells before Apparating back to his office in Hogwarts. The Dursleys were safe which meant he could return his efforts to finding Harry, wherever he may be. The Dark Lord had finally summoned his servants, allowing Severus to confirm that the man did not have Harry. It was a small relief.

He took let out a tired sigh as he looked around the room. The former Headmasters were fast asleep, a state he too wished to be in. Fawkes was sitting on his golden perch and trilled a greeting when he saw Dumbledore, shifting from one foot to the other. Then, completely unexpectedly, he burst into flame.

The old man jumped at the sight, watching in shock as the phoenix collapsed into a pile of ashes. The small feathery head of the reborn bird popped out, chirping faintly.

It was a little-known fact that, while Phoenixes were reborn when their bodies grew old or endured great damage, they would also incite a Burning Day when they sensed great danger or turmoil. For Fawkes to be reborn so soon after his last Burning Day meant something quite serious was on the horizon.

"Fawkes my dear," he murmured, leaning in closely. "Whatever has got you so worried?"

The Phoenix burst into flame again and Dumbledore was forced back as the chick collapsed into dust, almost a minute passing before it reappeared.

The Headmaster's heart was pounding in his ears as he waited worriedly to see if it would happen yet again. Luckily though it seemed Fawkes was done, letting out a soft cry as he curled into the ash and closed his eyes. Two burnings so soon must have hurt and exhausted him a great deal.

Dumbledore shuddered and took a seat behind his desk, trying to still his pounding heart. The meaning behind the burning was clear; danger was coming, and quickly. Something very bad was on the horizon.

As if on cue his door banged open and he jumped again. Normally he would've felt rather tired at the sight of Sibyll Trelawney, but today he was feeling particularly worn and the sight of her almost elicited a sigh. "I apologize my dear," he began, "but I'm not really feeling up to a meeting—"

"Darkness is coming, Headmaster!" She exclaimed, not hearing or ignoring his words. "My Inner Eye has foreseen a great evil on the horizon!"

He wanted to dismiss her words but he glanced over at Fawkes, still sleeping in his ash. "What… what kind of evil?" He questioned, turning back to her.

She blinked, eyes massively enlarged behind her spectacles, appearing quite surprised at being asked for more information. "I—I'm not sure," she admitted, holding aloft a crystal ball she has grasped in her hands. "But it is coming! Riding on the winds like a… a bird, yes!" Her glance towards Fawkes belied any true prophetic intent in the words.

Curiosity morphed into exasperation and Dumbledore's hopes fell. "I see Sibyll," he humored her, grabbing a parchment and pretending to write on it. "Thank you for telling me this; I will give it due consideration."

Trelawney nodded sharply. "Thank you Headmaster. It is good to have someone who trusts my counc—counc… council…"

Dumbledore looked back up and grew stiff, quill freezing mid-scribble. The crystal ball tumbled from Trelawney's hands and rolled across the floor, the smoky glass matching the whiteness that filled her eyes like mist. When she spoke it was the same harsh, grating voice which had doomed a young family fourteen years ago.

" _ONE FROM FIRE, ONE FROM DEATH,_

_THE END GROWS CLOSER WITH EVERY BREATH._

_A DEMON RISES, A GOD WILL FALL,_

_WAR WILL COME TO TAKE US ALL._

_A TRUST BETRAYED, A FAMILY TORN_

_A WORLD TO SAVE, A WORLD TO MOURN._ "

* * *

Scott let out a deep breath, his red-tinted vision focused out the window, at the trees waving in the warm night wind. There was a heavy feeling in the air, the smell of oncoming rain carried in on the breeze. The steam curling off his coffee was whipped away as fast as it could be formed.

He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, taking a small comfort in the feeling of cleanliness gained from his first shower and change of clothes in far too long. His jaw was free of stubble and he'd even cleaned off his glasses. He'd forgotten what it was like to feel  _clean_.

However, beneath the relief Scott felt there was something deeper, a nagging unrest which made it impossible to sleep. He felt tense, jittery, like something big was about to happen. After lying in bed for over an hour he had abandoned any attempts at sleep and decided to wait it out.

He took a sip of his drink, turning the mug mindlessly on the tabletop. The eerie quiet made him think of the old days, when there had been no more than four students and a moment of peace was easy to find. Being a teacher and the leader of the X-Men made him nostalgic for the time when the world was simpler.

Back then he had been just a teenager, fresh out of an orphanage and still reeling from the appearance of his powers. He'd been terrified to open his eyes without his glasses and constantly afraid of hurting anyone. The other students—Warren, Hank, and Bobby—had far weaker powers by comparison, and didn't understand his struggle. He felt trapped by his own body and was sure that he would never be able to live like that.

But then he'd met Jean. Struggling with her own powers and her fear of losing control, they had bonded. She had shown him how to be happy again, how to look beyond everything he had suffered in the years before. The loss of his parents, the separation from his brother, his powers… none of it mattered when Jean was with him.

He sighed, pushing the mug away. Outside the window the wind had strengthened, branches snapping against the glass as the old house creaked. In the distance lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, but rain had yet to fall.

"There's a storm brewing," spoke Storm, startling Scott as he took notice of her for the first time. She was standing in the doorway, an empty glass in her hand and her long white hair rumpled. She stepped to the sink, filling her glass with water before making her way to the seat across from him. "It's going to be a big one," she continued, looking out the window.

"I would've thought you'd be happy," he answered, raising an eyebrow. "You love sleeping in this weather."

She took a long sip of her water. "There's a lot of tension in the atmosphere, more than normal. It doesn't feel right." Storm had always had a deep connection with the elements, and though he didn't completely understand when she said things like that, he knew it made sense to her. "What's your excuse?"

"I don't like lightning." It brought back bad memories; a plane on fire, his parents pushing him and his brother out the door with the only parachute, watching as the plane exploded with them still inside… He cleared his throat, banishing the images. "Why not get rid of it?"

"Sometimes nature needs to take its course. No one can control everything, no matter how powerful they are." She glanced over, the underlying meaning clear in her blue eyes.

Scott shifted uncomfortably. He'd been avoiding this discussion since they got back from Alkali Lake and he had a feeling his time was up. "Some things can be stopped."

"It isn't always up to you. People have to be free to make their own choices, like Charles says."

He tightened his hands into fists. "That doesn't make it okay," he muttered, staring down at the table.

Hands reached across the table, wrapping around his. "Jean wouldn't want you to keep blaming yourself."

Storm's words mirrored Xavier's, but just like his they failed to offer any comfort. "Jean's dead, Storm. It should've been me, not her. I couldn't protect the Professor, I was the one who broke the dam, it was all my fault."

"You know that's not true and lying to yourself doesn't help. The only ones to blame are Stryker and Magneto."

"But I should've done  _something_. I should've known, should've stopped her—"

"Do you really think you could've?" she cut him off sharply. "Jean chose to save our lives, don't dishonor that sacrifice."

He sighed again, her words ringing true. "Sometimes I feel like I'm cursed. No matter how hard I try, people I care about keep dying. My parents, Nathan, Jean,…" The name burned in the back of his throat and he cleared it, forcing down the emotion as he pulled his hands from hers. "I couldn't save them."

Years of buried feelings were boiling over and it was almost overwhelming. The loss of Jean just made him remember all the other losses, all the people who had vanished from his life while he was forced to stand aside and let it happen. He was never fast enough, never strong enough, never… never  _good_  enough.

As if on cue the lights flared brightly, fading out for a few moments before returning. Both adults look around in surprise, Scott being the one to voice the obvious; "The storm's messing with the power."

There was a sharp whine and suddenly several bulbs exploded, raining glass and sparks down on them. They hurried from their seats as more lights followed, blowing out in sequence behind them. The microwave turned on of its own volition, numbers flashing randomly across the screen.

"What the heck," he muttered as he followed Storm out into the hall, only to freeze in their tracks.

Not only were the lights flaring but the pictures on the wall were shaking like leaves in a storm, rattling against the wooden walls. The chandelier was swinging wildly on its chain and doors were opening and closing on their own like something out of a horror movie.

The large mirror on the wall was cracking, the spiderweb-like lines growing distorting their images. He could feel Storm step a bit closer, as unnerved as he was. Thunder boomed and lightning crashed so closely they both jumped. And then they heard it.

_Knock. Knock. Knock_.

He stepped towards the door slowly, bracing himself for what might be on the other side. As he passed a table against the wall he realized that the vase atop it was levitating, water streaming upward out of the lip as if gravity was reversed.

Uneasiness filled him as he grasped the doorknob. It was hot in his hand so, in one motion, he swung it open. And froze.

Standing in the threshold, hair dripping wet and skin white as a sheet, was Jean Grey.

"Scott," she breathed, staggering forward and grabbing his shoulders. And then her eyes rolled backwards and she collapsed into his arms.

* * *

**A/N: Well there you have it. Confrontation. Hopefully no one is in a huff about Xavier being so much stronger than Voldemort on the psychic front, but in all honestly Legilimency is an incredibly limited skill, especially when compared to what a telepath is capable of.**

**And Jean's back! Finally! Hopefully her reappearance clears up some of the strange happens around Harry. If not, well, wait and see, as I stand by my early claims of trying to keep Harry from being an OP mutant/wizard/Phoenix hybrid. I still have a great many tricks up my sleeve. Jean's return also heralds in the first big arc of the story—I am sure most of you can guess what that it, and hopefully you aren't annoyed that I am using it.**

**Like the new prophecy? I put a lot of work into it, so you better.**

**Reviews are appreciated. My biggest worry is generally that I move too fast, even when it is sometimes unavoidable such as in the early chapters.**

**Mutant Cameos: Ororo Munroe/Storm; Ability: Weather Manipulation**

**Jean Grey; Ability: Telekinesis/Telepathy/Empathy**

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is quite short but they get progressively longer as more begins to happen.


End file.
